


Live To Fight Another Day

by raemanzu, spica_tea



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Asexual Character, Despair, Gen, Gun Violence, In Character, Medical Trauma, No Romance, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Soldiers, Surgery, War, Wordcount: Over 1.000, Wordcount: Over 10.000, Wordcount: Over 100.000, Wordcount: Over 150.000, Wordcount: Over 50.000
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 289,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1663136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raemanzu/pseuds/raemanzu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spica_tea/pseuds/spica_tea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clones have their place in the universe, beyond the schemes of Palpatine. Events conspire to place Rex on the path of a new fate, one which will affect the future in ways not even the Jedi could foresee. Canon-compliant with Films and finished TCW, loyal to source material and characterizations. Starts between seasons 5 and 6 of TCW and explores Rex's reaction to Fives' dying words and subsequent events. Variety of canon characters. No ships. Ace and Aro friendly. Strong focus on certain friendships (Rex and Cody, Jesse and Kix, etc) with those friendships playing major roles. Content warnings for war-related PTSD, trauma, despair, digging into clone enslavement, etc in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is set somewhere between the end of season 5 and the beginning of season 6. We love reviews, so if you have something to say, don't hesitate!

            “There it is. Ramatesh.” General Skywalker angled the civilian ship so they could get a better view.

            Rex kept a hand on the overhead grip and looked down at what seemed like no more than an expansive pile of dark green rubble that had dislodged itself from the adjacent mountain. Of course, he didn’t say so—not with General Rancisis sitting right next to him. His thick tail was right next to Rex’s foot.

            General Rancisis blew a long sigh through his thick white beard. “It is good to come home, but a place once left is never exactly the same. I wonder how things may have changed since last I was here.”

            “Let’s get a closer look,” General Skywalker suggested, and they dove as smoothly as this old fixer-upper of a shuttle could manage. As the city came into focus, Rex got a better impression of its size and organization. It looked much more like the ancient and regal capital it was, full of lichen-covered arches that led into vast tunnels and inclines designed by a legless species. He caught glimpses of metallic colors among the aged stone, modern and mainstream technology glinting up from below in the dim light of Thisspias’ star.

            Rex carefully stepped over General Rancisis’s tail. “If there’s nothing else, sir, I’ll tell the men we’re about to land.”

            “Good idea.” General Skywalker glanced at the other Jedi, but General Rancisis was focused on their destination. Rex hesitated, then walked down the short hall behind the cockpit and opened the door into the main cabin full of clones in civilian dress, chatting with each other.

            “—just saying, it would be better if we were wearing armor for this mission.” Bandana, able to freely display his blue namesake in public for once, was gesturing widely with one hand, encompassing the baggy jumpsuit he’d been given to wear.

            One of the long lines tattooed across Trig’s temple distorted when he raised his eyebrows. “Heh. What difference would that make? We’re not supposed to engage in any battles, we’re just here for back up in the worst case scenario. Don’t tell me you’re scared of the Thisspians.”

            “Thisspiasians,” Study corrected, scratching his stubbly sideburns as he stared out the window.

            “I’m not scared of  _them_ ,” Bandana huffed, folding his arms. “I’m not  _scared_  of anything down there—just I heard the cygnats’ll eat you alive if you’re not completely covered.”

            “Oh that’s not even the worst of it,” came a loud mutter from the back of the cabin. Rex caught a glimpse of the star tattoo between Gripe’s eyes. “Let’s just hope our slithery friends don’t invite any of us to dinner. I hear they only like eating  _live_  food. Ask Study, he’ll tell you.”

            “Shut up, Gripe.” Bandana kicked out a leg and stood up abruptly as he noticed Rex standing, listening to them. “Captain?”

            The company quieted and focused in on him. Rex felt odd in civilian clothes, his arm empty without his helmet nestled under it; he wasn’t really surprised that the men were feeling loose out of uniform. In some ways, this didn’t yet feel like a real mission.

            “Listen up. We’re about to land,” Rex announced, resting his hands on the pistols at his belt. That brought the men more fully to attention. “Keep your eyes open. Remember, we’re only here to serve as backup for Generals Skywalker and Rancisis in case anything goes wrong. They don’t  _anticipate_ anything going wrong. But there’s always a chance. And that’s why  _we’re_  here. We need to be ready to act at a moment’s notice.”

            “Yes sir,” came a scattered echo around the cabin, and a clone with a single stripe of hair down the center of his head stepped forward.

            “Captain, what exactly are we keeping our eyes open for? Separatist spies?”

            “Probably not.” Rex said, with a brief half-smile at Headline. “From what I understand, the situation here is tense. There are  _rumors_  their leader is considering joining the separatists, but General Rancisis says he believes the people are mostly on our side. We’re to stand by while the generals find out the truth. If something doesn’t seem right, you can tell me, and I’ll pass it on to General Skywalker.”

            “But don’t go getting ahead of yourself,” Study piped up from the window. “You’re not gonna get to be a famous war hero if you offend the Thisspiasians.”

            Headline shook his head a little bit, hands on hips. “I won’t! Captain, do you think we’ll have much of a chance to interact with the Thisspi…Thisspiasians?”

            “We’ll just see how it goes once we’re on the ground,” said Rex. “If you’re concerned about it, you can ask Study to give you a crash course on their species while we’re standing by.”

            “Why  _aren’t_  we wearing armor?” Bandana asked. “This isn’t exactly an undercover operation. Is it?” He winked at Headline.

            Rex shook his head abruptly. “General Rancisis believes the locals will take more kindly to our presence here if we don’t look like soldiers. That’s all we need to know.”

            “It seems like there’s more going on here than they’re telling us,” Headline said, stroking his chin in an imitation of General Kenobi.

            Bandana smacked him on the arm and laughed. “Like Study said, don’t go getting ahead of yourself,  _General_ Headline.”

            “Bandana’s right,” Rex said easily. “It’s not up to us to know everything. That’s the Generals’ job. Our job is to be ready to follow orders as they’re given. If there’s anything more we need to know, I’m sure General Skywalker will tell us.”

            “Of course, sir.” Headline grinned. “I know that. We’re just curious, that’s all.”

            “Speak for yourself, hotshot,” Trig said.

            “Yeah,” said Gripe, checking his rifle. “I just wanna get the job done.”

            The ship bucked a little as it came in for the final descent, and everyone grabbed onto seat backs or overhead grips or each other. Then they touched down, the ship steadied, and the door opened. Everyone stood at attention as General Rancisis slithered between their ranks and down the ramp that was lowering, bringing in a gust of humid earthy air. General Skywalker followed behind, throwing a half-smile at Rex before he and the other clones fell in behind him.

            It was windy down on the surface. Rex was slapped in the face by the prickle of sand and saw Bandana tighten his bandana while Gripe’s eye twitched against the flapping of his long shirt collar. Beneath them was a smooth black landing pad, and in front of them, set against a deep green fortress-like wall, was a group of three Thisspiasians, all with long, thick beards and hair—Rex could barely see their eyes even once they got closer—and rich brown and red robes. One of them had four arms.

            A hot needle stabbed Rex at the base of his skull. In less than a second he whirled to face his attacker, a pistol in his left hand and a mash of insect guts in his right. He stared at the bruise-colored mess.

            “Cygnats,” Study grunted, swatting one off his head as well.

            “Let’s hope we get inside before too long,” Rex sighed with relief. For a moment there he had expected to find a poison dart protruding from his neck—that’s what the bite had felt like. He swatted away another bug that dove at his face.

            “They’re nearly the size of my hand!” Gripe hissed, smashing one between his palms in mid-flight.

            “Keep it down, men,” Rex ordered. “It’s just a bunch of bugs.” Nasty painful bugs, but they could handle it with dignity.

            General Skywalker didn’t seem amused about the cygnats either, but he brushed them aside with constant lazy waves of his hand, probably repelling them easily with the Force.

            “Greetings, Generals,” said the first Thisspiasian to reach them, raising a surprisingly feminine voice over the howl of the wind. “Oppo, it is good to see you again.”

            “Likewise, Issu.” General Rancisis bowed his head respectfully. “I trust I find you and the royal family in good health.”

            “Not all in good health, I’m afraid. You must come and speak privately before bringing the other Jedi with you.”

            The Generals exchanged a glance. Skywalker looked over his shoulder at Rex and nodded before turning to the other Thisspiasians. “Of course. Just as long as the rest of us can wait inside.”

            “They are not accustomed to the challenging climate of Thisspias,” Rancisis said. Rex barely heard him over the shrieking whine of another cygnat in his ear. Gripe kept grunting out numbers with each new cygnat he managed to defeat. He’d just passed twenty.

            “That is acceptable,” said one of the flanking Thisspiasians, whose voice seemed much older than the first speaker’s. “Follow us.”

            General Rancisis joined his fellows in slithering ahead of them toward an opening in the slick rock wall. Rex pulled his men up close to General Skywalker, who fell behind the Thisspiasians a few strides. The waving of his arm went wider, and the volume of the cygnats’ whining voices went down as they kept their distance.

            “Thanks, General,” Rex said with relief.

            “Nasty little things, aren’t they,” Skywalker mused.

            “Little? They’re not exactly little,” said Gripe.

            General Skywalker grinned mischievously “Are you saying you can handle armies of destroyer droids but not a few overgrown flies? Well, if  _that’s_  the case, I’ll let you get back to business!”

            Headline broke in hastily. “What he means to say is, we had ‘em under control, sir, but your help is appreciated. Very appreciated.”

            Skywalker laughed under his breath. “Don’t mention it.”

           “We’ll want to treat those bites as soon as we’re inside,” said Study, brushing bits of cygnat off his shoulders.

            “Well… if all goes as planned, killing cygnats will be the only action we get this mission,” Rex said half to himself.

            Together they passed under the arch and into its deep shadow. The place smelled funny on the outside, and eventually funnier on the inside. Like dust and… something more like sweat, as if the walls themselves were sweating. But Rex had been to a lot of planets and this wasn’t the weirdest of them yet.

            The door shut behind them. At a fork in the passage, lit by hidden strips between the walls and ceiling, the generals conferred together up ahead, then Skywalker came back to motion them down the right-hand corridor.

            The passage opened up into a large cavern which appeared to serve as a town square, probably one of many in the massive capital. The sight of hundreds of Thisspiasians slithering about in crowds between multi-level alcoves and pavilions was certainly like nothing Rex had ever seen among intelligent species. They all spoke in the native language, and the sound of it blended together was like the static crackle of a bad transmitter, amplified and copied over itself.

            Skywalker paused at the edge of the crowd, searching for whoever was coming to escort them further, but the crowd suddenly swelled toward them; they were enveloped by a group who seemed only briefly interested in their presence, speaking to each other in raised, emphatic voices as they passed. Instinctively, Rex and his men moved closer to the General.

            “Master Jedi!” A voice broke from the cacophony. “Master Jedi, if you’ll come this way please. Hurry, before the crowd gets thicker!”

            The General shifted through the crowd, and Rex and his men struggled to follow him without stepping on any tails. Rex could only see the back of their new friend’s head—all shaggy long black hair—as they were led out of the main thoroughfare, through an alley of sorts and into a smaller chamber which was oddly empty.

            “So sorry I’m late, Master Jedi,” said the Thisspiasian graciously. “We did not expect Master Rancisis to part ways with you immediately. I’ll lead you to a comfortable waiting area, and when it’s time to speak to the monarch, I will lead you there as well.”

            “I appreciate that,” said the General, and together they followed their guide through several other deserted hallways until their path ended in a round room encircled by cabinets. In the middle was a table and a few cushioned, backless seats.

            “Please, make yourself comfortable,” the Thisspiasian gestured in a subtle bow. “Your men may help themselves to any refreshment they find here.”

            “That’s very gracious of you,” the General said, a calculating look in his eye. “My name is Anakin Skywalker and this is Captain Rex. You are?”

          “Shigir Sab,” said the Thisspiasian. “It is an honor to meet you, General Skywalker. And you… Captain Rex.” Shigir came very close and coiled in a half circle around where Rex stood, leaning down to stroke his head. “A  _pleasure_  to meet you as well.”

            Rex stood firm and stared up at the alien’s hairy face, unable to make out an expression, although what he imagined there made his neck prickle for some reason.

            “Thank you… sir,” he said, rationalizing that if he used “sir” for Commander Tano, he could use it for this alien of indeterminate gender.

            Shigir smirked—that much was unmistakable—and slithered away. “I must go and await orders to bring you to the monarch.”

            A few moments later, they were alone. At Rex’s nod, Trig sat down at the table with Study and Bandana to look at their cygnat bites. The one on Rex’s neck was burning worse than it had a few minutes ago.

            “What was that all about?” Skywalker asked, grinning at Rex.

            “I’m sure I don’t know, General,” Rex shrugged, rubbing at his neck. “Gripe, go ahead and see what they’ve left us in the cabinets.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “They’re keeping us well out of sight.” Headline leaned against one of the cabinets. “Looks like General Rancisis was right about how they don’t like soldiers, even when we  _are_  dressed like this.”

            “I dunno, Shigir seems to like soldiers,” the General snickered, so that only Rex could hear him.

            “Maybe they’re just trying to make  _us_ more comfortable,” Trig suggested, pinning Bandana’s arm while he treated the bites, already done with Study’s. “I’d rather be in here than out in that square. Stop squirming!”

            “Oh come on, have a little sympathy,” Bandana laughed, wincing every time the soaked gauze touched the sores. “Those suckers hurt a lot worse than I expected.”      

            “Personally, _I_  prefer the crowds,” General Skywalker said, shaking his head. “Whatever’s happening out there is bound to be more interesting than sitting in here doing nothing. Seems like an awful lot of people for an average day in Ramatesh.”

            Rex knew the General well enough to expect that this comment was a precursor to running off and investigating. He was prepared to insist on following him, since trying to talk him out of it would be no use.

            To his surprise, Skywalker’s sidelong glance and smile at him was followed by a wistful sigh at the ceiling. “Too bad we couldn’t be doing this kind of boring mission someplace nice… eh, Rex?”

            “Sir?” Rex asked.

            “At least somewhere you might get attention from someone more attractive than Shigir Sab.” Skywalker paced overly casually, pretending to examine his gloves.

            “Well… I… wouldn’t put it like that, sir,” Rex said uncertainly. “I’m happy to serve wherever I’m placed.”

            Skywalker barked a scandalized laugh. “So what you’re saying is… you have broad tastes?”

            “Uh,” Rex said haltingly, thrown by what the General’s tone of voice implied. “Sir… I’m not sure what you mean. I don’t think it’s appropriate to discuss this—especially not in front of the men.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean, Captain?” asked Bandana. “You’re not saying you actually—”

            “No,” Rex cut in. “I’m not saying  _anything_.”

            “Rex, Rex, come  _on_.” General punched him lightly, affectionately on the chest. Rex took a step back. “Just tell us straight up. Is Shigir Sab not your type?”

            “My type of what, General?” Rex sighed and grimaced.

            “You know what I’m talking about.” Skywalker’s grin faltered for a moment. “Uh… you do know what I’m talking about, right? That Thisspiasian was obviously attracted to you.”

            “I suppose that is the obvious conclusion, sir,” Rex admitted uneasily.

            “Yeah,” Skywalker said. “So just out of curiosity, what would you do if someone like that did show that kind of interest in you?”

            “That would be impossible, sir,” Rex laughed nervously.

            “We are all pretty handsome devils, though, sir,” Headline said, grinning. “It’s not that impossible.”

            “Yeah, give us some credit,” Bandana chuckled and then hissed. “Ow! Trig, I swear you’re doing that on purpose!”

            Trig smirked. “Only a snake would go for an overly self-important clone who thinks he looks cool with a big furry fin plastered to his head.”

            “Guys, we’ve been through this. It’s supposed to be like the fin on my helmet!” Headline explained for the hundredth time, brushing fingers through his hair. “But you’re right,” he conceded. “If a civilian ever went for a clone, it’d definitely be someone like Captain Rex, someone who stands out! Not because of how he looks, but because of who he is.”

            General Skywalker looked amused. Rex opened his mouth, flattered and embarrassed, but was too slow.

            “You guys are insane,” Gripe scoffed from the cupboards. “No offense, Captain, but I agree with you. We’re bred for battle, not… anything like that. Who wants to try some of these? They look like eggs. Probably with some baby bird inside or something, knowing this place.”

            “No, I’m pretty sure those are from another reptilian species,” Study started to explain.

            “Captain, Gripe, it’s your turn to get treated.” Trig interrupted. “And put those back, will ya? I don’t think any of us wants to try it.”

            “Hey. Maybe I would,” Study said. “Could be interesting.”

            Skywalker clapped a hand on Rex’s shoulder, laughing a little. “Sorry, Rex. I didn’t think you’d get so uncomfortable.  _Well_ … okay, I guess I did. I was just curious what _part_ of the experience you didn’t like.”

            “Very funny, sir,” Rex sighed, smiling reluctantly now that the attention of the men was mostly off him. He knew the General’s teasing was a sign of respect—after all, he teased his Padawan all the time. Rex would be honored to be even half as esteemed by the General as Commander Tano.

            “So?” Skywalker prompted confidentially. “Was it just the… slitheryness? The hair?” He motioned toward his own clean-shaven face. “Not really my type either.”

            “It was the whole experience,” Rex said, eyebrows askew, and Skywalker laughed quietly. “Maybe I should leave the talking to you, General… at least for the rest of the mission.”

            “Alright. But I’m sure it’s nothing a Captain of the Grand Army of the Republic couldn’t handle.” Skywalker winked and Rex just let it be, not sure what more to say. The General did this, sometimes… Rex always got the feeling he was looking for something in particular, feeling his personality out indirectly. He sat down in front of Trig and let the trooper clean and treat the bites on his neck. The antiseptic  _did_  sting.

…

            At long last, after General Skywalker had paced a hole in the floor and the troops had finally gotten tired of trading “one time on Coruscant” stories, Shigir came slithering back into the nearly-silent room.

            “The monarch and Master Rancisis await you, General Skywalker,” said the Thisspiasian. As Rex and his men stood to follow, Shigir’s furry mouth twitched. “I’m sorry, but your soldiers will have to continue to wait here. The monarch will not allow anyone but you and Master Rancisis to be present in his chambers at this time.”

            Skywalker looked thoughtfully between Rex and Shigir, brow furrowed.  He held out a hand toward Rex. “It’s alright. We’ve got our wrist communicators… I’ll call you if I need back up.”

            “But sir, we don’t know our way around this place. How will we find you?”

            “Just ask where the monarch is,” the General shrugged. “It’ll be fine, don’t worry. If nothing else, you can follow my communicator’s tracking signal, or send someone back to the ship and use the scanners to figure out where I am.”

            “Will do, sir. Good luck.” Rex saluted.

            Skywalker saluted back lazily and walked away.

            “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” said Headline, frowning. “How are we supposed to do our duty and protect him when he could be on the other side of the city?”

            “He’s a Jedi,” Rex said. “He can take care of himself.”

            “Yeah, you get used to it serving under that guy. He likes to jump right into the action, and it’s up to us to keep up or stay outta the way,” Gripe said. “He always gets the job done, though.”

            “In case you haven’t noticed, there is no action going on here. General Skywalker knows what he’s doing,” Rex insisted, sitting back down at the table. “So unless you’ve noticed anything actually wrong with this situation, I’m not going to bother him about it.”

            “The walls,” Study said, chin in one hand, motioning at the tunnel they came from with the other.

            “What? What about them?” asked Bandana.

            “They’re designed to block radio communication,” said Study. “So we wouldn’t be able to contact General Skywalker even if something happened, to him or to us.”

            “How do you know  _that_?” Headline frowned skeptically.

            “Heh. How does Study know anything?” Trig scoffed right back. “He read about it before he came!”

“Why didn’t you tell General  _Skywalker_  about the walls?” Rex asked Study.

            “I… I forgot.” Study’s brow furrowed in guilt and worry. “Until just now, when he mentioned communicators.”

            “Oh. You  _forgot!_ ” Gripe cried, shaking his head in exasperation. “Well, that’s just great. What good does all that studying do if you just  _forget_   to pass on the most important information?”

            “Leave him alone, Gripe,” Bandana sighed. “It’s no good complaining about it now. We have to figure out what to  _do_. I say we go back to the ship!”

            “What good will that do?” asked Gripe earnestly.

            Rex tried his communicator. “General Skywalker? General Skywalker, do you copy?”

            Everyone fell silent as he tried again. And again. And a fourth time.

            Finally, Rex sighed. “Study’s right. It’s not working.”

            “So. Back to the ship, right?” said Headline. “And once we get there, we can use the ship’s scanners to locate the General. I volunteer to go find him and tell him about the walls.”

            “Just hold on a minute,” Rex said, holding up his hands. “We don’t want to do anything that might alarm the Thisspiasians. If something  _is_  going on here, we need to make sure we don’t let on that we know. I’ll go take a look around and see if there’s anyone posted to keep us from leaving. I may even be able to catch up to General Skywalker if we’re lucky, but I’m not counting on it. So once I give the all clear, we’ll make our way back to the ship.”

            “Yes sir.”

            Rex gripped Study by the shoulder as he got to his feet. “Better late than never. If you weren’t on this mission, we wouldn’t even know about the walls.”

            Study’s worried look smoothed a bit. “R…right. Thanks, Captain.”

            “Trig, I’m leaving you in charge until I come back.” Rex pointed and Trig got to his feet with a sharp nod.

            “Yes, sir.”

            “See you soon,” Rex shot back. He turned and walked toward the exit into the hallway.

            “Good luck, Captain,” someone said to his back, and when Rex looked, Headline had a hand lifted.

            Rex lifted one back and headed down the corridor, careful to keep his steps quiet. It was longer than he remembered. When he came to a junction, he crept forward carefully and looked in every direction, both with the naked eye and with his binoculars, but there was no sign of Skywalker or Shigir.

            When he returned, the others were almost exactly as he’d left them. “Alright! Looks like nobody’s watching us. That’s a good sign. Let’s get back to the ship.”

            Headline and Bandana cheered, and all five of them hurried to follow him down the corridor.

            Once they got to the end and out into the alley, the crowds had thinned a bit. Rex led the way he thought they’d come, but when they reached the end of the street and stepped into the square, he stopped dead.

            “This isn’t right.”

            “No,” Study agreed. “This is a different square.”

            “Or the same one from a different angle?” Gripe grimaced.

            “We’ll retrace our steps,” Rex said firmly. “There weren’t that many intersections in the alley… we probably only took one wrong turn. Come on.”

            They turned and headed back the way they’d come. At the intersection they paused, peering down the even narrower alley that bisected theirs.

            “I swear we never went down something like that,” Bandana frowned.

            “Yeah,” Rex said. “Let’s keep going.”

            It was quite a long, winding ways before they reached a point in the path where they realized they were one branch of a narrow Y.

            “This must be it!” Headline insisted. “The path we’re on seems like the natural extension of that one, but  _that_  one is probably the one we came down the first time, not even realizing this one existed!”

            “I dunno,” Bandana mused. “Doesn’t look all that familiar to me. And it’s going the same direction we already went!”

            Headline rolled his eyes. “You’re looking down it from the opposite angle, of course it doesn’t look familiar! Anyway, who knows how these paths twist around?”

            “It’s our best chance for now,” Rex decided. “Let’s see where it leads.”

            The bickering died instantly and they followed him. The path did wind, bafflingly. And the light that was diffused throughout the cavern was no help in keeping a sense of direction. They came to another intersection, this one splitting into six ways.

            “Now this  _really_  doesn’t look right,” Gripe muttered.

            “We go back then,” Rex sighed. “If we take one of these other paths, we’ll probably get even more lost. We have to stick to what we already know.”

            “Lost?” A voice came up behind them and everyone whirled, weapons in hand. The red-haired Thisspiasian reared back in alarm, long fingers raised in front of their face. “I mean you no harm! You seemed lost and I merely wanted to help!”

            Rex waved at his men to lower their weapons. “Sorry. We _are_  lost… we’re trying to get back to our ship on landing pad seventeen.” He glanced at Study, who nodded slightly.

          “Oh, you are  _quite_  lost then,” said the redhead. “Unfortunately, I’m in a hurry, but I can give you directions.”

            “We’d appreciate that,” Rex said gratefully.

            A few minutes later they were jogging down an alternate route their helpful stranger had promised would get them to their goal more quickly.

            “That’s the last right turn,” Study huffed. “But this is more uphill that it should be.”

            “How do we know we can trust what that snake said?” Gripe muttered.

           “If we get to the end and it’s not our ship, we can ask somebody else,” said Rex. “Only two more turns to go, right, Study?”

            “Right. Two turns up ahead.”

            Suddenly things were looking right. They came to the same large corridor leading out of the city. Rex found the button to open the doors, and together the six of them ran out into the wind-whipped clouds of dust and cygnats.

            The ship wasn’t there. The platform only held a small hover-cart for transporting goods off freight ships. They all trotted to a wary halt.

            “Careful,” Headline said, smacking away a cygnat with his rifle and looking around. “Something isn’t right.”

            “We followed the instructions exactly,” Study fretted.

            They shifted into a loose circle, covering each other’s backs as they looked around and edged toward the corner of the landing pad.

            “There it is!” Trig pointed. “There’s the ship. It’s down there.”

            And so it was; the ship gleamed dully, at least three levels below them.

            “Aw, great! Let’s just jump down—if we feel like breaking our legs,” Gripe sighed.

            “It’s alright,” Rex said, although he had the nasty feeling this had been intentional. “We’ll just go back the way— _the door’s closing!_ Run for it!”

            He led the charge toward the dropping door, but it was already almost shut by the time he could see the shape of a Thisspiasian on the other side. Rex flung out an arm to bring Headline and Bandana to a screeching halt before they could dive under and get crushed.

            “We’ll find a way to open it,” he growled. “And then we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

            “Agh!” Gripe smacked another cygnat off his ear. “I can’t wait to get off this rock.”

            “Study?” Rex asked, dodging the whining insects and examining the panel that seemed designed only to frustrate those who wished to enter without clearance. “Any ideas?”

            “Wait a minute,” Headline said, glancing at the hover-cart. “Maybe we  _could_  just jump down.”

            “Are you crazy?” Bandana cried.

            “No, no, no, just listen! That cart’s thrusters could break our fall!”

            “I don’t like it,” Gripe said hesitantly. “Sounds like you’re just guessing.”

            “It could work,” Study admitted. “If we were careful about it. Depends on how strong the cart is.”

            “May as well check it out,” Rex ordered. “I’ll keep trying to find a way to open this door. Keep alert. If we were led here deliberately, we might have company soon.”

            “Bandana and Headline can cover Study,” said Trig. “While Gripe and I take care of the Captain.”

            Rex nodded his approval and set back to work. The keypad wasn’t yielding any answers. He pried it off with a multitool from his belt and set about trying to make sense of the cords inside.

            “What’s that noise?” someone asked over by the hovercart.

            “I dunno! I haven’t even turned it on yet!” Study gestured at it, baffled.

            Something clicked into place like a blaster to the gut. Rex jumped to his feet. “GET AWAY FROM THERE IT’S A—”

            His last word was drowned out by an explosion that instantly swallowed the hover-cart in a ball of fire. The blinding flash ate up Study, Bandana and Headline before they had even turned to hear Rex’s shout. Gripe and Trig had half a second to jump toward the door before they were knocked flat on their faces, and Rex couldn’t see them anymore because the fire sliced into him, pinning him to the door. The world whirled and he thought for a moment the door was tumbling down onto the platforms below, but it never made impact. He just kept falling in a dizzying spiral until he realized he wasn’t moving at all. The heat dissipated and the smoke began to clear. All he could see through the bright red haze was the raw remains of friends he’d been speaking to only seconds before. Trig was lying closest, his face still recognizable. Incredibly, Study’s body moved… and made an indecipherable noise before lying still.

            A wave of nausea hit Rex and he told himself it was just from the pain that was pulsing through him with each shuddering breath as he took stock of his body, to find out if he should give in to death or not. His vision was erratic and blotchy. He tried to lift a hand to wipe his eyes, but this was impossible without screaming quietly through clenched teeth.

            He looked down, although moving his head at all made it feel like it was determined to abandon his body. His right arm was pinned to the door by a heavy piece of shrapnel, and there was a growing pool of blood under his left leg. He needed to stop the bleeding.       

            Slowly, he struggled to stay focused on devising what he could use to make a rudimentary tourniquet, even while his vision fogged and he felt his consciousness slipping.

…

            “I make no secret of the fact that I think the Republic is corrupt,” the monarch hissed calmly, coiled regally on his throne. “But that does not mean I have any plans to leave it yet. If reform from the inside is possible, it is always the better option.”

            “I agree completely, your highness,” Anakin said, almost wishing the monarch had said he  _was_  joining the Separatists so that this conversation would be less tedious. “But-”

            “The question is, young Skywalker… esteemed friend—” here the monarch nodded to Rancisis “—whether or not the Republic is willing to be reformed… to listen to the criticisms that are being leveled against it from its members. Perhaps if it were, there would not be any need for systems like ours to leave its protection.”

            “The Republic  _is_  willing to listen,” Anakin protested. “But in war, certain things have to take priority over others. I’m sure your highness understands that.”

            “Then it is a question of whether those priorities match mine to a fuller extent than the Separatists’ priorities would,” the monarch frowned.

            “And those of the Thisspiasian people,” Rancisis added.

            Anakin gave Rancisis a frown before he could stop himself, and then took a deep breath. “From what I know of your people, majesty, and Separatist ideals, it would be better for every—”

            The floor vibrated beneath his boots, and a low rumble, just within his hearing, reached his ears. The Force confirmed what he would have already suspected.

            “What was that?” Anakin looked at Rancisis. “That was a bomb, wasn’t it?” He whirled on the monarch. “Are you trying to make a statement by blowing up our ship, is that it? Or attacking my men?!”

            “Anakin—” Rancisis cautioned.

            “I know  _nothing_  of a bomb!” the monarch looked just as upset as Anakin. “We must investigate this immediately. I warned you of possible anti-Republic terrorism when you proposed to come to Thisspias, and I won’t have disorder and chaos come to my city! If I find out that you have brought it here then perhaps I was right to distrust the Republic!”

            “Please,” Rancisis sighed, “Let us all be calm and—”

            “You can stay here and argue all you want.  _I’m_  checking on my men!” Anakin turned and ran, lengthening his strides until he was leaping through the corridors of the palace as fast as he could, startling members of the court as he sped past them and out into the street.

            He followed his instincts through a door onto an upper ledge. Down below he saw his ship intact, and felt more dread than relief. That meant the ship wasn’t the target. There was a scorch mark and scattered bits of metal glinting on another platform. He leaped, starting his descent, slowing his fall at each level with a little help from the Force.

            At last he was across from his goal. He took a running start and leaped the gap between the two platforms, rolling as he landed.

           The floor was smeared and scarred a deep red and black from the blast. He inhaled sharply the taste of blood, fuel, and char. Not a man remained standing. There were two shapes closest to the blast’s origin… he turned his eyes away from a corner of blue cloth turned purple and black. Bandana. He walked past the two who were certainly dead, found Study and Trig and Gripe, and with a single touch, knew they were still alive. Trig lifted his head weakly, the only one still conscious, and coughed wetly, words dying at the back of his throat.

Skywalker looked up desperately, searching for Rex, and saw him slumped under a swarm of cygnats by the door.

            “GET AWAY FROM HIM!” Anakin yelled, Force-pulling the bugs away from the Captain’s body with all the strength he could muster. He was rewarded with a weak groan. “Rex? Captain, hang in there!” Anakin crouched by the fallen Captain. Rex lifted his head with effort.

            “Ge..general….”

            Anakin took in Rex’s condition quickly. He saw where Rex had managed to thread a bit of cloth around his heavily bleeding leg, but couldn’t tie it tight enough with one hand, the other trapped by the shrapnel. He took up the cloth and cinched it tight, then pulled the debris away.

            “Hang on, Rex, we’ll get you out of here, you’re _going_  to be fine!” Anakin said fiercely.

            A heavy rumble came from the door and Rex cried out in pain as it began to lift behind him. Anakin took him by the shoulders and pulled him away from the opening door, glowering at the two Thisspiasians on the other side. One was Issu, but the other one he hadn’t seen before.

            “They’re here to help, General Skywalker!” Rancisis’ voice boomed out over the wind, and Anakin turned in time to see the Jedi’s serpentine form sailing through the air onto the platform. Rancisis slithered quickly over to him, dismay clear on his face. “Did any of them survive?”

            “At least two, for now… and the Captain,” Anakin said tightly. “And _he_ might not if we don’t do something quickly!”

            “I’m a doctor,” said the unfamiliar Thisspiasian. “Let me see.”

            “Trust him,” Rancisis urged. “It’s our only chance to save the clones.”

            Anakin reluctantly moved aside so that the doctor could lean in and examine Rex, whose ragged breaths were going dangerously quiet. Issue went over to Trig, Study and Gripe.

            “Stay with me, Rex,” Anakin growled, barely noticing when a cygnat glanced off his metal arm.

            “He’s lost too much blood,” the doctor sighed, after conferring with Issu. “The wounds can be repaired, but not if his body is too weak and depleted to do so. The others are burned badly and have also lost blood… but may survive. We could transfer some of their blood to him, if you are willing to sacrifice their lives for his.”

            Anakin hesitated. “No.” He shook his head. “No, Rex wouldn’t want that….”

            “Then he is as good as dead,” Rancisis said softly. “They must have been lured here by someone.”

            “Who could have done this?” Issu cried. “I swear we will track down whatever terrorist set this trap. We will have justice for these soldiers. Doctor, can you ease his passing?”

            “No!” Anakin snarled. “We’re  _not_ going to put him down like that! He can still make it! We just have replace the blood he's lost!”

            “But you have already refused,” Rancisis pointed out. “There is no one else of his kind to give the blood needed. There is no way to synthesize such blood here on Thisspias.”

            “I can do it!” Anakin jabbed a thumb at himself. “Clones are human. I’m human. We have to try!”

            “It would be kinder to let him pass,” the doctor said. “He is already nearly gone. Clones can be replaced.”

            “Not this one!” Anakin shook Rex and grinned guiltily as the captain grunted in pain. “See, he’s still with us. He’s my responsibility and I say we do the transfusion!  _Now!_ ”

            The doctor looked at Rancisis, who gestured helplessly. “It is his decision. There is no harm in trying, is there?”

            Anakin stared grimly until the doctor nodded, checked Rex’s leg and the rest of him for broken bones, and gave Anakin permission to lift him. Rancisis assisted the doctor and Issu in carrying the troopers away.

            Once they were back in the city, stretchers were fetched. Rex had gone limp shortly after Anakin had picked him up, but Anakin could tell he was still breathing. A few long, torturous minutes of walking later (Anakin reminding himself that he couldn’t just jump ahead, not without the others along to explain), they were in the nearest hospital. Uniformed Thisspiasian medical professionals surrounded them, whispering in their own language. They took the wounded troopers into another room, laid Rex carefully on an operating table and motioned for Anakin to lie down on the bed that had been wheeled next to him.

            Anakin glanced at Rancisis, hesitating. The Jedi Master had been adamantly opposed to his becoming a Jedi Knight. Ever since then it had been hard for him not to feel slighted by the Thisspiasian. But he had to set that aside now.

            He whispered, “I’m trusting you to watch my back. After all, we don’t know if we can really trust anyone else here.”

           Rancisis’ furry brow raised. “Please, young Skywalker. If the monarch has said he knew nothing of the bomb, then he knew nothing of it. But I agree that we must be cautious. I feel that the doctor’s hesitancy is a good sign. If he wished to cause harm to you, what better way to do it than through a medical operation you requested yourself? He would not hesitate in that case.”

            “It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s Rex. Keep an eye on him too. I don’t want them giving up on him without my permission.”

            “Very well,” Rancisis sighed.

            Anakin laid down on the bed, and shook his head when the doctor reached for his droid arm.

            “You won’t be getting any blood out of that one.” He pulled up his sleeve to show him, then rolled up the opposite one, taking a deep, calming breath as the needle went in. He wondered, as he often had, whether it was possible through the Force to help someone hold on to life. If, by bending every bit of his will toward wishing a friend to live, the scales of life and death would tip more decisively toward living. It was always worth a shot. There wasn’t much else productive he could do with his mind at the moment. Rex was the only witness they had of the attack, and he wouldn’t be giving them any hints about his attacker for a couple of hours at least.

            The doctor hooked Rex up to the transfusion machine and set about treating his wounds.

            Anakin closed his eyes and imagined his blood, his strength flowing out of him and into Rex. He knew Rex was a fighter. If he could just give him a head start on cheating death, Rex would do the rest on his own.

…

            It sounded like it was raining. Or the wind was blowing, maybe. But Rex felt sick and the peaceful sounds around him were out of place, a delusion. The rain or wind seemed to be saying words, and his body felt like it was being held in the claws of a monster, stuck and swollen in several places.

            “Ugh,” Rex groaned, struggling to open his eyes. They were so heavy. But he had to see what he was up against.

           Lit from behind, beady eyes blinked at him out of a mat of hair, and long claws hovered over his face. The wind was the whispering of other monsters all around him.

            “Wh—agh—” Rex made to reach for his pistol with the arm that wasn’t  _quite_  as much torture to lift, but his muscles weren't obeying, and the monster pushed his hand down slowly, back onto a smooth surface. Effortlessly. He was so weak. He hoped the thing would kill him quickly.

            “Rex? Hey, Rex, it’s okay. You’re safe. How are you feeling?”

            General Skywalker’s voice.

            “General?” He meant to say it quickly, but it took conscious effort to continue past the first syllable. “Where am I? Where…where are… you?”

            Rex felt a hand on his shoulder, and Skywalker’s face came into view, grinning for a moment before turning serious.

            “We’re still on Thisspias. You’re in a hospital. Do you remember what happened?”

            Rex blinked heavily and the bodies flashed against the inside of his eyelids. He groaned a sigh. “Study….”

            “Study’s alive,” Skywalker said gently.

            “He is?” Rex winced as he turned his head to look at the General better. “And the others?”

            “Trig and Gripe made it through the explosion, but… we had to let Trig go, his injuries were too severe. What happened?”

            “We were… trying to get in contact with you. But we couldn’t find our way back to the ship. Someone trapped us on that landing pad… the cart was a bomb.”

            “Did you see who did it?”

            “No... sir.” Rex took a deep breath and flinched. “I didn’t see a face. But there was someone who locked the door on us. And there was the one who led us there. Red hair.”

            “Thisspiasian?”

            “Yes.... And the one who locked the door on us.”

            “Well, don’t worry,” Skywalker sighed, frustrated. “The monarch is investigating this. It looks like it wasn’t organized by anyone big. Probably just some radical civilian group. I don’t think we’re in any danger now.”

            “You don’t think they were targeting you?” Rex asked.

            “No,” the General frowned, looking away. “Probably just… clones.”

            Rex shut his eyes for a moment, letting the news pass through him in a long breath. “They were good men, sir.” Headline would never be famous for anything now. Gripe was the hardest working of any of them, despite his constant complaining, and now he might be taken out of action permanently. Study’s knowledge had been in vain after all, and Bandana and Trig would never tease anyone again. Even if Study and Gripe survived, who knew if they would be battleworthy? This kind of loss happened every day on the field. But Rex always tried not to forget their names, their individuality.

            Another Thisspiasian came into Rex’s sight when he opened his eyes. General Rancisis.

            “You should thank General Skywalker, Captain. You would be dead right now if not for his determination to save you. It looks like, despite our worries, you’ve taken well to the blood transfusion and are going to recover.”

            “What? Wait a minute… blood transfusion?” Rex coughed painfully when he tried to sit up. His head and vision felt a bit clearer now.  It was easier to talk. “Sir, what is he talking about? From where? Who?”

            Skywalker shook his head, gave a crooked smile and tapped his own chest. “Don’t mention it, Rex. The worst part was just lying around for hours waiting to see if it would work. Just hurry up and get better. You know how much I hate waiting.”

            “Sir… I….” Rex stared at the General's satisfied expression, overwhelmed. “I don’t know what to say.”

            “Just a quick ‘thank you’ would be fine,” Skywalker said smugly.

            “Thank you… General…” Rex said slowly, sincerely. That anyone, much less a Jedi, would bother to give blood to a clone.... Only someone as crazy as General Skywalker could have thought of such a thing. If he’d been told this by General Skywalker directly, he would have doubted it, but Rancisis wasn’t the type to fool around.

            “You’re welcome.” Skywalker folded his arms with a stern look. “Now rest. We’ll get you, Study and Gripe into a bacta tank as soon as we can, and then I expect a full recovery.”

            “Yes, sir. Of course.” Rex closed his eyes and welcomed the fog of sedatives over his uneasiness and troubled memories of the explosion.

 


	2. Chapter 2

            “Threepio, come on, it’s me,” Anakin protested, standing in the doorway to Padme’s place. “You can let _me_ in.”

            “I’m sorry master Anakin, but Senator Amidala gave me very strong instructions that she not be disturbed by anyone for the rest of the night.” The droid twitched his arms in apology.

            “Why? What’s she doing?”

            “I… well, I believe she’s working on a very important proposal,” C-3PO said, sounding flustered. “She didn’t tell _me_ any details, of course.”

            “Oh, she’s just working? I won’t distract her then.”

            “Very considerate of you. I’ll tell her you stopped by. Goodnight master Ana—wait!” Threepio’s voice went from pleased to scandalized in the space of a syllable. “Wait a minute, what are you doing? I said I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t come in!”

            Anakin pushed past the droid with a soft laugh. “Have a little gratitude, Threepio! I’m the one who built you!”

            “Yes,” C-3PO said, hurrying after him, arms nearly flailing in their brisk up and down motion. “And you are also the one who asked that I serve Mistress Padme to the full extent of my capabilities! I hope you’ll forgive my saying so, but I don’t see how I can do that when you—”

            Anakin put a hand up with an overly serious look. “ _Stop_ ,” he hissed in a stage whisper. “You’ll distract Padme.”

            The droid jutted his head in the silent equivalent of a huff, then walked away jerkily, muttering under his breath about being given conflicting imperatives and “it’s a wonder my circuits haven’t been tied in knots from all the contradictory information I’m asked to work with!”

             Anakin grinned fondly at Threepio’s crotchety fussing, and went to the door of Padme’s study. As it swooshed open, he caught half a second’s glance of her bent over her work table before she looked up in annoyance which quickly turned to surprise.

            “Anakin! What are you doing here?”

            “I’m tired of being around other Jedi and clone troopers,” Anakin said simply. “But I didn’t want to sit alone in my room at the Temple, either. I promise I won’t bother you if you’re really busy.”

            “It’s alright,” Padme said, coming to hug him hello. He held her tight, always treasuring the warmth of human contact. He got so little of it from anyone but her. “I could use a break for a few minutes. It’s good to see you, Ani. Obi-Wan told me that your mission to Thisspias didn’t go as well as it could have.”

            “Politically, it went great,” Anakin said dryly as she released him. “The monarch made us lots of promises that he would root out whoever had a grudge against us. But I don’t really feel like talking about that right now. What are you working on?”

            “Oh.” Padme’s brow furrowed and she rubbed at the skin that creased between her eyes. . “It’s a proposal… related to the Republic’s involvement with Mandalore. It’s such an important system, and things have been so chaotic there lately. The Republic needs to be extremely careful in how it relates to Mandalore from this point on, otherwise we could be paving the way for total Separatist control in the Outer Rim.” She laughed faintly. “But I don’t really want to talk about that right now either. Have you seen Obi-Wan since you’ve been back?”

            “Not yet,” Anakin shrugged. “I had to get the surviving clones on my team to the hospital, and then there was a debriefing and… you know how it goes.”

            “I was just wondering. I haven’t seen him or heard anything from him since… well, since Satine was killed.” Padme sat down, looking exhausted.

            Anakin instantly sobered. He knew Padme had also considered Satine a friend. “Yeah. He hasn’t said much to me, but I can tell he’s trying his best to put it behind him. Are _you_ alright?”

            Padme nodded, staring off. “Mostly I’m just tired. I’m tired of this war.”

            Anakin sat next to her. “Me too.”

            “Really?” Padme said, leaning against him. “Sometimes I think you’re too well suited to times like this. Would you really know what to do with yourself if we were at peace?”

            “There’s always something that needs a Jedi’s hand,” Anakin said. “But this war goes beyond the kind of problems we were meant to solve. I don’t like being caught up in all the political plots and maneuvering that goes on behind the scenes. So often it feels like… we do what we think is the right choice, and it has the wrong outcome, because there’s too much wrong built into the systems in conflict with each other. We have to tiptoe when we should be shouting.” He leaned back and looked down at Padme doubtfully. “Does that make any sense?”

            “Yes,” Padme sighed. “I know what you mean. Sometimes it seems like you have to do the opposite of what feels best, in order to get the right outcome.”

            They sat in silence for a little while, and Anakin’s thoughts strayed to the last words he’d shared with his padawan. How little he’d expected to be taught anything by an impetuous little Togruta girl. In the beginning, he’d thought he was the only Jedi who could be both passionate and self-possessed, but there had been times, like that last conversation, when he had truly seen Ahsoka as a source of strength. At others, her clear and honest approach to life had been like a warning beacon in the haze of his own private conflict.

            He wondered where she was now, what she was doing. At times like this, he still envied her a little for having the choice to walk away from it all. But maybe she hadn’t really. Knowing her, she’d already gotten caught up in some wrong that needed setting right. As protective as ever, he didn’t want her to put herself in danger, but it still made him feel a little better to imagine her passion for justice finding an outlet somewhere.

            Soon, Padme returned to her work desk, and after about an hour of lying quietly, soaking up her presence, Anakin was bored and tired of his own thoughts. He squeezed Padme’s shoulder.

            “Don’t stay up all night,” he said, and she smiled goodbye at him as he left. He thought maybe he’d hit up the lightsaber training grounds before he went to bed. He needed to lose himself in action without thinking about the past or the future.

…       

            Rex sat in civilian clothing, cross-legged in a traditional meditative stance. Eyes closed, muscle by muscle he relaxed.

            A soft voice—identical to his own, as if coming from his own mind—guided him.

            “Good! Good… now, you feel the helmet?”

            “I think so,” Rex murmured. A trooper helmet sat on the ground about three feet in front of Rex.

            “No, no, it doesn’t work like that… don’t just think so. Do you feel it or not?”

            “I feel it,” Rex said.

            “If you feel it, then you can lift it. It’s simple, actually….”

            The helmet wobbled and Rex’s breath hitched, but he kept his eyes closed, and slowly, slowly the helmet began to rise in the air….

            Anakin rolled over and opened his eyes, confused for a moment to find himself in his room at the Jedi temple, and not one of the many cramped ship cabins he so often woke in these days. A dream clung to the edges of his memory, but only the bare bones of the end. Rex, using the Force? He rubbed his eyes against the dim light filtered through the blinds in his room. His subconscious sure had a weird way of expressing concern for the Captain’s injuries. And it had been a long time since he’d last been recruited for teaching younglings such rudimentary exercises. Weird, how he could fall asleep thinking about Ahsoka and have a random dream like that.

            “Anakin, are you there?” Obi-Wan’s voice came from the communicator on the gauntlet lying by his cot. He grabbed at it.

            “Yeah. I’m here.”

            “Oh, good. The Council is requesting another tactical meeting in half an hour.”

            “Great,” Anakin said sarcastically. “I’ll meet up with you on the way there.”

            Anakin washed up and changed into fresh clothes, hoping that the meeting didn’t last too long. He was hungry and wondered if, once the meeting was over, he should treat himself to a restaurant meal after so much time eating field rations. Then again, the food in the Temple refectory would probably satisfy him just as well. These days, it all tasted much better than he remembered from back when that was all he’d been eating day in and day out. 

            When he finally emerged from his room, Obi-Wan was waiting for him near the entrance to the southwestern quarter, as usual.

            “Ah, you’re almost early.” Obi-Wan smiled when Anakin was close enough. Together they began walking down the tranquil, high-ceilinged hallway toward the many rooms they used for strategizing and discussion of war. “Sleep well?”

            “Why? Do I look tired?”

            “Just a feeling,” Obi-Wan said pleasantly. “I hear your last mission didn’t exactly go as planned.”

            “No,” Anakin sighed roughly from the back of his throat. “I lost half the troopers I had with me. And we _still_ don’t know who set the bomb.”

            “Mm. How is our unfortunate Captain? I assume he’s in stable condition now?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Well, at least there’s one bit of good news to start our morning. I’m afraid this meeting might tax everyone’s patience.”

            “Just what I wanted to hear,” said Anakin.

            They passed under the open door and into the conference room. Master Yoda was already present, along with Masters Plo, Stass Allie, and Windu via hologram. The war had become so demanding that Anakin couldn’t even remember the last time they’d had a meeting where everyone attending had been physically present. Right now, the only bodies in the room besides his and Obi-Wan’s belonged to Yoda, Rancisis, and Luminara. After they had all nodded greeting to one another, Kit Fisto also entered the room, bringing with him his signature, uniquely relaxed aura. Several other Jedi generals followed after him.

            At last, Yoda looked around at them all. “All here now, are we? Then let us begin. Master Windu.”

            Mace Windu nodded and addressed the group. “As I’m sure everyone has noticed, our forces are spread thin right now. Despite that fact, we’re at a tipping point. Now is the time for us to strike hard at the Separatist bases in the Outer Rim. Our intelligence has gathered a list of targets, and the High Council has narrowed down which of these are of greatest strategic importance. From this point going forward, the majority of our troops and generals are going to be deployed on the offensive, starting with the territories you see on the map. Master Luminara, if you would.”

            Luminara pulled up the holographic map of the Outer Rim. It was speckled with bright flags indicating where they were to strike. Windu went on.

            “Those in this meeting will focus their forces in this region. I propose that Ryloth, Ossus, Ord Radama, and New Bornalex be our first major targets, followed closely by Xagobah, Siskeen, Clak’dor VII, and Sluis Van. There will be minor targets we have to clear out of the way first, however—smaller outposts where the Separatists will try to prevent our advancement. Ringo Vinda and two other stations in the Siskeen system will need to be taken before we can mount a full scale assault.”

            “I see,” said one of the other generals, Stass Allie, while studying the map. “The Separatist forces are amassing here.” She indicated the last four planets Windu had mentioned. “If it's possible for us to wipe them out before they are ready, it could be a deciding factor in our victory. But it won't be easy. We'll have to pull troops and generals from maintaining the Republic presence on other worlds.”

            “And we will have to act quickly,” Luminara said, looking troubled. “The longer we wait, the closer their armies come to overwhelming us simply through the concentrated strength of numbers.”

            “How will we minimize civilian casualties on planets like Ryloth?” Obi-Wan asked. “The people there have been struck hard enough by this war as it is. Is there any way we could draw the enemy troops out of those systems and toward the less populous targets? Perhaps if we attacked those first, they would divert their troops to supplement their defense?”

            “The Separatists care little for the lives of civilians,” Master Plo said. “I have seen it before. If they are pushed out of their outlying bases, they will fall back into civilian areas, knowing we will be disadvantaged by our unwillingness to put civilians at risk. We would save more lives if we make re-taking and defending the cities our first priority.”

            Obi-Wan looked as if he might protest, but then he hid his mouth behind his hand, stroking his mustache in troubled thought. Anakin understood both points of view. There was no ideal way to wage war against a ruthless opponent.

            “In the hands of each leading general, the civilian lives will be,” Yoda said seriously. “Trust your judgment, the High Council does.”

            “I share Master Obi-Wan’s concern,” said Master Luminara, eyes downcast. “Unfortunately, I am forced to admit that at this point in the war, it seems we will be forced to make a choice between giving too much ground to the Separatists, or else putting innocent lives at risk in order to prevent their armies from spreading to even more populated systems.”

            “All the more reason to make sure these assaults succeed, then,” Rancisis said, folding his arms. “We cannot afford to fail.”

            “Now is the time to propose modifications to the assault plan in general,” said Windu. “Once we have determined that we are in agreement, we will divide up the assignments to each general, and meet again in a few hours to give each of us the chance to propose a more specific plan.”

            Anakin took a deep breath. Lunch at a restaurant was out of the question now. But beyond that, if they failed at this point, they would almost certainly lose the entire war. Looking around the room, it was clear that very few of the other Jedi were wholeheartedly excited about this plan. Most of what he saw in their faces was grim determination.

            But if they won, the war could be over that much quickly. And he always worked best under pressure. Once they got past all this talk, this would be the most challenging campaign yet. Then, he was sure he’d feel the thrill, and not just the dull resignation that hung over them all now. Success was the only acceptable outcome after all their hard work and sacrifice…. There was no way they could lose unless they lost sight of their objective.

…

            The Temple refectory was loud with chatter as Anakin and Obi-Wan entered, but the line was thankfully short.

            “You should call Masters Tiplar and Tiplee as soon as possible,” Obi-Wan advised him as they loaded their trays. “And I need to contact Master Tsui Choi after this as well.”

            “Why weren’t any of them at the meeting?” Anakin asked.

            “I heard the sisters were in the middle of a battle when it was called. As for Master Choi, he was discussing an important strategy with his captains and asked to be filled in afterward.”

            Anakin sighed, looking around for an open table. “Do you ever feel like the entire war effort is one big mess, like we’re barely keeping things together?”

            “Since the very beginning,” Obi-Wan admitted. “But thinking that way isn’t going to do us any good. As long as we all focus on our individual duty, the strategy will work.”

            Anakin took a seat and glanced up as his old master sat opposite. “Is that where you get your confidence in the council’s decisions? Because you trust the individual Jedi carrying out those orders to do the right thing?”

            “Well, yes. The Jedi Order is, for the most part, made of capable, thinking individuals. Like you.”

            “Master Obi-Wan,” Anakin exclaimed wryly. “You should be careful throwing praise around like that. It might give me a big head.”

            “I’m only telling the truth as I see it,” Obi-Wan smiled. “And it’s not like you to be modest, Anakin. Are you still feeling sour about your mission to Thisspias?”

            “No,” Anakin said bitterly. Truthfully, he had half succeeded in putting it out of his mind until now.

            “Master Rancisis tells me he was quite impressed with how quickly you managed to locate the bomb site.”

            Anakin took a few bites of food without tasting them. “What do you mean? Two other Thisspiasians showed up only a few minutes after I did.”

            “Yes, but they were native to that city. Even most Jedi find navigating Ramatesh to be difficult. Besides, they have an internal sensor network built into the walls which made it easy for them to pinpoint where the explosion came from. I imagine that comes in handy when living underground, to minimize losses in the event of a cave-in.”

            “Oh. Of course.” Anakin rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t I know that? Right… because Master Rancisis didn’t see fit to tell me anything about his home planet before we left! Including that our communicators wouldn’t work underground, which is the entire reason those troopers died in the first place!”

            “Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, in that particular placating way he always said it. “He gave you a compliment. He trusted your capability as a Jedi Knight and as a general, enough to leave it up to you to decide the best precautions to take with your men, and to ask for any information you might need. Would you have preferred it if he had treated you like a padawan, telling you everything just in case you needed to know?”

             “My pride isn’t more important than the lives of my men,” said Anakin dully. “And I doubt _he_ cares so much about either one.” He shoveled food into his mouth as an excuse not to say more.

            For a moment, Obi-Wan’s furrowed brow smoothed in a sad smile. “Always taking things so personally. Unfortunately, even the best of intentions can go wrong. For now, let’s just be grateful that your skill with the Force helped you to save a life.”

            “It wasn’t my skill that saved them,” Anakin muttered. “It wasn’t even skill that helped me get to them faster. I wasn’t doing anything consciously, I just… followed my instincts.”

            “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; you don’t see that that’s precisely why you impress people.” Obi-Wan glanced at him with mild exasperation, and shook his head. “But of course your talent with the Force is such a natural part of you…it’s in the way you can pilot ships in ways that would be suicidal for anyone else… it’s in your blood. But the difficulty, always, is in distinguishing between our own impulsiveness and allowing the Force to fully guide our actions.”

            Anakin barely heard the last sentence. _It’s in your blood_.

            The image from his dream came crashing back to the forefront of his mind and he felt a tingle of anxiety. He knew he had a higher than normal midichlorian count. And he had given his blood to Rex. Rex’s body had accepted it, and now… What if it was a vision of the future, and he’d somehow made Rex capable of using the Force? That had to be against the rules of the Jedi Order, or at least against the many rules set in place for members of the clone army, and who knew what sort of trouble he’d be in with the High Council if it turned out to be true? And what would happen to Rex?

            “And that is why I think we must always be conscious of the actions we take, even if they seem involuntary,” Obi-Wan was saying, but Anakin could only fill in what had come before with guesswork based on years of such impromptu lessons.

            “Mm,” Anakin said noncommittally, wondering how he could discreetly find out whether or not he’d just made a huge mistake… perhaps huge enough to cost him his place as a Jedi Knight. And Rancisis had stood by without warning and let him do it, perhaps secretly delighting in that very thought.

            “Anakin… you didn’t hear a word I just said, did you? Are you alright?”

            “Hmm? Sorry, Master, I was… just thinking.”

            He couldn’t worry about this right now. Agonizing wouldn’t do any good, and he had to be focused on creating a strategy for taking Ringo Vinda. He resolved that when he visited Rex this afternoon, he would find answers. And once he confirmed it had all just been a strange and meaningless dream, he could let the matter rest.

            Obi-Wan frowned at him thoughtfully, then glanced at the clock. “We’d better hurry. We’re running out of time to meet with the other generals before reporting back to the Council.”

            “Less talking, more eating,” Anakin agreed. He was going to need his full concentration to deal with the rest of the day… and the less he let on to Obi-Wan about his concerns at this point, the better.

…

            Anakin walked down the sleek gold and silver halls of Coruscant’s military hospital, led by a medical droid. The past several hours had been packed full of strategizing and debate, but despite how quickly they had passed, it felt like his conversation with Obi-Wan had happened days ago.

            The medical droid opened the door; Rex was sitting up on the austere hospital bed, arm in a sling, dressed in a thin white robe. When he saw Anakin enter, he swung his legs over the side, and the droid rushed to stop him.

            “You are in no condition to leave your bed,” it scolded dully. “I thought clones were supposed to be more obedient than other humans….”

            “At ease, Captain,” Anakin said gently, glad to see Rex feeling well enough to try. “I ordered you to rest, didn’t I?”

            Rex grimaced and lay back against his pillow—drawing his injured leg back up on the bed took more effort than putting it down. “I have been resting, General.”

            Anakin could tell Rex was uncomfortable being seen like this, and so he forced himself to stay chipper, despite his personal worries and the stress of the day. There was no point in worrying Rex by acting as if anything was out of the ordinary. Anakin glanced around the rest of the hospital room.

            “These walls are a little boring to look at, though. Get any good channels here?”

            “I wouldn’t know, sir,” Rex said. “Was there something you wanted to see me about?”

            “I just wanted to see for myself that you’re making a full recovery. You look a lot better than you did… well… before.”

            That brought a small smile. “I’m in your debt.”

            “No, no debts, Rex,” Anakin waved a hand, keeping his tone light. “I just did what I had to do. It was no big deal.”

            “All the same, sir,” Rex said. “I won’t forget it. And I’ll be back on duty as soon as possible. You can count on that.”

            “Your _duty_ is to be at one hundred percent when you get out of here.”

            “Yes sir.”

            Anakin pulled up a chair; Rex seemed startled that he intended to stay.

            “So… this is at least your second time being heavily injured on the battlefield. Does it feel any different from the first time?”

            “Well, this bed is a lot softer than the table Kix and Jesse put me on back on Saleucami,” Rex huffed a laugh under his breath. “And my legs were fine then, it was just my arm. This is taking a lot longer to heal.”

            “Well,” Anakin said, “I actually meant, in here… does it feel any different?” He tapped his own temple with two fingers.

            “Not really,” Rex said evenly. “I lose men all the time, sir. It’s expected.”

            “Right.” Anakin was starting to relax. Rex was either totally unaware of any change in himself, or he was very good at hiding it, which didn’t seem likely to Anakin. He’d push a little further, just to be sure. There was some reading material on Rex’s bedside. Anakin pulled it over to him through the Force, smiling at Rex’s momentary questioning look.

            “Reading anything interesting?”

            “Just reg manuals, sir,” Rex said.

            “Reg manuals? Can’t you request anything more interesting?”

            Rex half-grinned. “I don’t plan on being stuck here that long.”

            “Glad to hear it.” Anakin bounced the reading pad slowly from palm to palm, never letting it actually touch his skin. He kept half an eye on Rex’s face, but the Captain’s expression was openly attentive and expectant.

            “There’s no need to be concerned for me, sir,” Rex finally prompted. “If you have some bad news, I’d prefer to know it straight off.”

            “Bad news?” Anakin blinked and let the console fall into his lap. “Are you expecting some bad news?”

            “Have I been declared unfit to return to duty?” Rex said, his face serious.

            “Not unless the doctors are keeping secrets.”

            Rex shook his head. “Last I heard, I was promised a full recovery.”

            The reading pad twirled lazily in place.

            “Am I…” Rex began, “being demoted, sir?”

            “What?” Anakin blurted. “Why would you be demoted?”

            “We were ordered to stay where you left us. I should have trusted that you had everything under control. I understand if you see fit to have me transferred to another battalion.”

            “That’s never going to happen, Rex. In fact, I’m depending on you to be with me on my next major mission. The council met today to discuss a new wave of assaults in the Outer Rim. We’re going to take Ringo Vinda first.”

            Rex looked relieved. “I’ll be ready, General. When do we leave?”

            “Not for several days at least. We’re still working out the details of how the assaults will fit together. That should give you plenty of time to get back on your feet.”

            “I could be ready tomorrow, sir, if necessary,” Rex said.

            “I don’t doubt it,” Anakin grinned, then sobered a bit. “But like I said, it’s better you have time to recover fully.”

            He couldn’t keep sitting around waiting for Rex to react to his subtle prodding, or the Captain would wonder what was up. Anakin looked Rex in the eyes and reached out with the Force, searching the Captain for any hint of change. He felt subtle ripples of Rex’s confusion and concern underneath his ever-present resolve to do whatever was required. But there was nothing at all like what he felt when connecting with other Jedi or even younglings.

            “General?”

            Anakin stood up and put the reading pad back on the bedside table. “Take care of yourself, Rex. I’ll see you when we’re ready to ship out.”

            “Yes, sir!”

…

            The tramp of boots on a metal floor. Troopers marching down an unfamiliar hallway. In a dim and fuzzy light, another clone held a rifle trained on Rex, whose hands were up.

            It was Cody. “I never thought I would be the one to take you down. But you’re not the man I knew.”

            “You don’t want to do this, Commander,” Rex was saying. “You’ve got to stop acting like a mindless droid. You can’t just keep accepting their orders!”

            “I don’t listen to traitors.”

            Blaster fire rang out, but Rex pulled the gun out of his attacker’s hands without ever touching it; an invisible force threw Cody against the wall and Anakin woke up sweating.

            The silence of the dark room made his breath loud and startling. He looked over to make sure Padme was still asleep. She was curled up loosely with her back to him. Anakin settled back and took a deep breath, in and out, laying a hand over his rapid heartbeat as if he could force it down that way. But a deep unease still gripped him, before his mind had even formed the words to describe what he’d seen.

            He had checked! He had felt no Force sensitivity in Rex, nothing that fit with the prophetic tone of this dream. But it had only been a day since the first one, and now this? He must have missed something during his visit with Rex. Even if the Captain didn’t have control of the Force now, he would…and if the vision was to be believed, he would not be on the side of the Republic. The Sith were looking for a way to destroy the Jedi from the inside out—corrupting a trusted clone Captain would be the last thing anyone would expect. And if they discovered that Rex had the potential to wield the Force, they would not rest until they had him. The situation on Thisspias must have been set up for precisely this purpose. They had known Anakin’s weakness and exploited it as the council had always warned. And Master Rancisis had made no effort to curb Anakin’s thoughtless response to Rex’s injuries—he had to be in on the plot, a pawn of the Sith. It was no wonder he had objected to Anakin’s appointment to the Order; he knew of the prophecy. He knew Anakin was destined to destroy the Sith.

            Anakin rolled carefully out of bed, feeling smothered by his own shortsightedness. He crept from the bedroom and stood before one of many large windows looking out onto the elegant skyline of the Senate district. How had he become so fond of a clone? As much as he hated to admit it, there were other clones just as capable as Rex. He _could_ have been replaced. Instead, he gave a mere clone a power that was not meant for his kind. He clenched his fists at that. A wiser Jedi would have understood the risks, and weighed Rex’s life against the greater interests of the Republic. They wouldn’t have given in to attachment so quickly.

            He had to tell someone immediately about what he’d done, and about Master Rancisis. A Jedi wiser and more experienced than himself, who would know what to do with Rex and the mistake Anakin had made. Master Yoda would have the authority to make the best decision for the Republic, even if it meant eliminating whatever danger Rex presented now at the source. Anakin swallowed. He wouldn’t let attachment get the better of him this time.

…

            “CT-7567, are you listening?” the obnoxious medical droid whined.

            “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Load up the shot once a day and stick it in my leg, drink lots of fluids, and send a daily report for seven rotations. I won’t leave anything out.” Droids. Rex was so tired of droids. It was much more fun to blast them than take orders from them.

            “I hope that’s not sarcasm I detect.”

            “You wouldn’t even know sarcasm if it blasted you in the face.”

            “Well!” the droid huffed. “This is the thanks I get for waiting on you hand and foot for days on end.”

            “You’re just doing your duty. And I can’t wait to leave this box and get back to mine.”

            On cue, the door opened, and General Skywalker walked in.

            “General!” Rex stood up.

            “Captain,” Skywalker said, staring at the medical droid.

            “I’m being released. I’ll be in uniform as soon as possible, sir.”

            The medical droid shook its head as it stalked away.

            “Good. Get dressed, then. We’re going to the Jedi Temple.” The General still wasn’t looking at him.

            “Yes, sir. Excuse me, sir. I’ll join you outside as soon as I’m ready.”

            The General left without saying anything. Rex retrieved his service uniform from the storage cabinet. It felt good to be out of hospital clothes, and judging by General Skywalker’s mood, they had quite the battle ahead of them.

            The door opened onto the brightly lit hallway, and Rex stepped out.

            “Ready when you are, sir.”

            Skywalker led the way out into Coruscant’s morning sunlight, and Rex climbed into the passenger side of the General’s speeder. They merged abruptly but seamlessly into the flow of traffic, and the Jedi Temple came into view within minutes. Meeting with the Jedi to discuss military operations was a matter of course for Rex, but those meetings were usually held on the battlefield, not here. Something big must be in the works. General Skywalker appeared to be deep in thought as he set the speeder down on the Temple landing pad.

            Together they made their way into the building, but instead of heading toward the conference rooms, General Skywalker turned in the opposite direction.

            “This is a private meeting,” Skywalker said quietly. “With Master Yoda. We need to discuss some of the events on our last mission.”

            “Do you have a suspect for who planted the bomb, sir?”

            “You might say that.”

            Rex took the following silence to mean that more information would have to wait until they were in a secure location. The General led him down fairly featureless hallways lined with nearly identical doors, until arriving at one which seemed no different from the others.

            It opened before Skywalker touched the button.

            “Come in. Come in!” Master Yoda’s voice came from the dim interior. “Many questions in your mind, I feel. Heaviness, you bring with you.”

            Rex stepped in behind General Skywalker, and the door slid shut, leaving the room even dimmer than before. Light came in through slats in the window blinds, and Yoda was seated on a round cushion. The old Jedi Master looked straight at him, and Rex wasn’t sure if he should look away or not.

            “Unexpected, your presence is, Captain Rex.”

            “General?” Rex glanced at Skywalker.

            “Sit, sit, and let us speak freely.” Yoda swept two cushions to rest in front of them with a wave of his hand, and Rex and Skywalker sat.

            Skywalker took a deep breath. “Master Yoda… I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

            “A mistake, you say? Something involving your Captain, it is?”

            “Yes.”

            A sick feeling crept into Rex’s stomach. The General had reassured him that he had done nothing wrong, but apparently he had changed his mind.

            “I’ve been having… visions. I thought it was just a dream the first time, but now I’m certain I’m seeing the future.”

            “Very careful you must be, young Skywalker,” Yoda warned. “Tell me of this dream, and then decide its meaning, we may.”

            “Alright,” Skywalker sighed, hesitating. “Captain Rex was in both of them. And… he was… using the Force.”

            “What?” Rex gasped. “Sir, that’s—” He cut himself off, not wanting to speak out of turn. He was in the presence of two Jedi, after all.

            “Agree with the Captain, I do. What you saw, impossible it is.”

            “No, I’m sure of what I saw! The first time it was just practice—with the Force. But in the second vision… he… Master Yoda, I’m afraid the Sith will find a way to strike us from within, and they’re going to use Captain Rex to do it.”

            Yoda looked serious, but not yet alarmed. “Describe this knowledge, can you, in more detail?”

            “Yes. I saw….” Skywalker closed his eyes, concentrating. “Commander Cody…. He was pointing a blaster at Rex, talking about… he was telling him he was a traitor. And Rex was trying to convince Cody to stop obeying Republic command. He said he was acting like a mindless droid. And then… Cody tried to shoot Rex, but Rex used the Force to push Cody against the wall. That’s when I woke up.”

            Rex stared at the General, horrified. “This can’t be a vision, sir. I would never betray the Republic! And I would never fight against the rest of my brothers!”

            “I can’t deny what I saw,” the General said quietly. “Master Yoda… I need to know how we can prevent this from happening.”

            “Before we can prevent it, how it will happen, we must first know.” Yoda looked contemplative.

            Rex spoke up. “If clones could ever use the Force, it would have happened by now. There are millions of us!” He turned toward General Skywalker. “You’ve worked with me long enough, and in all that time, have I ever shown any kind of… sensitivity?”

            “No,” Skywalker said to the ground. “But I….”

            “Afraid you are, that in giving your blood to this clone, the Force also, you have given?”

            “I’m sure of it,” Anakin muttered.

            Yoda smiled, and laughed a little. Rex and General Skywalker both jerked upright to stare at him.

            “Although mysterious, the ways of the Force may be, this much we know to be impossible. Give the Force to others, no one can. Born with it, you must be.”

            “But,” Skywalker said, still troubled. “My visions. How else can they be true? I was sure that we were set up on Thisspias! It would have been the perfect plan to use me… my weakness….” He glanced at Rex.

            Rex could only stare back, astounded that of all people, he could have been considered General Skywalker’s weakness. Wasn’t there someone else who would have been a better target?

            “Yes,” Yoda said. “Your attachment to others, your greatness weakness it is. Very careful, you must be. But in the matter of this clone, no harm has been done. Saved a life, you have.”

            “I’m still not convinced that my vision was just a dream,” Skywalker protested. “And that’s the only explanation I could think of.”

            “Many and terrible are the ways of the Dark Side. If a vision indeed this is, another way they will find.”

            “Permission to speak freely, sir,” Rex asked tightly.

            “Already granted, it was.” Yoda smiled.

            “This is absurd!” Rex said, punctuating it with a jerk of his arm. “Even if I could use the Force, I wouldn’t, and certainly not to betray the Republic! I would rather die! The enemy can do whatever it wants to me, but I would never do anything like what you saw in your dream!”

            “So certain, are you? Very persuasive, the Dark Side can be.”

            “He’s right, Rex,” General Skywalker said, finally looking at him. “I don’t like to think about it either. But I can’t just ignore what I saw. Especially not if there’s a chance to prevent it. Ignoring it isn’t going to help anything!”

            “I can’t believe it,” Rex said simply.

            “Think on this matter, I will,” Yoda said. “But not worry. Until some evidence of this plot we see, act, we cannot.”

            “So I should still take Rex with me on missions like nothing’s going to happen?” Skywalker asked.

            “A reliable Captain, he is. Need him on the battlefield, we will, if in this new wave of attacks, we are to succeed.”

            “If General Skywalker doesn’t trust me, sir, wouldn’t it be better for me to serve under someone else?”

            “No,” Skywalker said. “Master Yoda’s right. Until something happens… you’re still the best Captain in the army.”

            Rex wasn’t sure if he should protest or not. He didn’t like the idea of working under someone who didn’t trust him. But on the other hand, if something was going to happen…it would be better to have someone watching him who knew. Rex didn’t like the thought of that at all.

            “Now… see you both at the meeting tonight, I will. Much to discuss have we, about the assault on Ringo Vinda.”

            Skywalker stood and Rex hurried to follow.

            “Thank you, Master Yoda,” Skywalker said, and they left.

            As the door slid shut behind them in the hallway, Rex could barely contain himself any longer.

            “With all due respect, sir, what in the name of the Republic was that?! How could I—how could any clone—become a Sith? It’s insane!”

            “Rex,” Skywalker sighed in exasperation. “I wish it were that simple. I don’t want to believe it either, like I said! But you don’t know how powerful my vision was! Do you think I go around thinking all my crazy dreams are going to happen in the future? This was different!”

            “But, sir! Commander Cody? How can you even imagine that I would fight against him?”

            “I wasn’t _imagining_ it!” The General gestured in agitation. “It was a vision! You don’t understand.”

            “That’s right, sir. I don’t understand, because I’m not a Jedi. And I never will be! Not in any way, shape, or form!”

            “Hey, no need to be insulting,” Skywalker said, and for a minute Rex couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. The events of the day had put him too off-balance.

            “I meant no offense, sir. I just… I just don’t see how this could be possible.”

            “Me either,” Skywalker sighed. “But it is… somehow. Hey… as Master Yoda says, the future is always in flux. Maybe we’ve already changed it by knowing about it.”

            “Somehow it always seemed pretty clear cut to me,” Rex said. “We do our duty… we live, or we die. For the good of the Republic.”

            “I hope that kind of thinking isn’t what makes you an easy target.”

            Rex frowned. “Me and every other clone, then. General, you know I can think for myself. But you also know that I _am_ loyal to the Republic. And I always will be.”

            Skywalker said, “What if the Republic was wrong? What if you found out that everything you’d been fighting for was a lie?”

            “I still wouldn’t turn against my friends, sir.”

            The General smiled sadly. “Your friends, huh? Do the Jedi fall into that category?”

            “A friend is a friend whether they’re a Jedi or one of my brothers,” Rex said. “You know I consider you a friend.”

            “I hope that doesn’t change.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter take place during and are quoted directly from "The Unknown," episode 6x1.

           The shattered bits of target spheres hit the floor and were swept away by a droid arm, to be reshaped into new targets. Rex hit two more of them at once as they whizzed free of their hidden launchers in the floor. The sound of the pieces hitting the smooth walls in a high-pitched shower was so satisfying.

           He jabbed the console in front of him with his sore knee, and locked on to the five new spheres hurtling through the air, calculating subconsciously how to hit them all before they struck the ground. One! Two close together—he spread his hands two feet apart, exploding two more spheres near opposite ends of the ceiling. His left hand jerked down to catch the last one, but his blaster bolt grazed the top of it only a fraction of a second before it hit the floor.

           With an annoyed huff, Rex hit the button for another try.

           “Rex! I knew you’d be here!”

           Rex didn’t turn to see who it was. It was only when he’d hit the fifth sphere with a triumphant “ha!” that the footsteps came up behind him and a clone caught Rex roughly by the shoulders and laughed.

           “Worried you’ll lose your unofficial title as the best marksman in the army?”

           “ _Commander_ Cody.” Rex broke into a grin and turned, holstering his pistols. “You’re back from Rendili!”

           “Just landed. And you’re back on your feet.” Cody pushed back to look him up and down. Rex was in his service uniform, and Cody was in his armor, making the contrast between them more striking than it should have been.

           “Course I’m back on my feet,” Rex said with a smirk. “They couldn’t keep me locked up in the hospital another day.”

           “No permanent damage, then?” Cody circled around him once and Rex laughed. He shifted weight onto his right leg and patted his left knee.

           “My leg still looks awful, but the med droids say it won’t scar. Even if it does, no one’s gonna see it.”

           “General Kenobi told me about what happened.” Cody’s usual serious look slid back into place. “I heard it was a close one.”

           “We lost some good men,” Rex sighed. “It was a trap and we walked right into it. I was nearly dead when General Skywalker found me.”

           Cody frowned so hard his scar wrinkled. “Well…did they catch whoever did it?”

           “No. Some kind of local anti-Republic group, I guess. That’s what the monarch said.”

           “Cowards,” Cody said bitterly, hands on hips. “Blowing up clones just to prove a point, is that it?”

           “Something like that. Anyway… ‘sgood to see you. I wasn’t sure you’d be back in time.”

           “In time for what?” Cody’s eyebrows went up a bit.

           “General Skywalker’s taking us to Ringo Vinda. One of the first strikes in the Republic’s new assault plan. We leave tomorrow morning.”

           “Oh.” Cody looked disappointed for a moment, but then it vanished into one of his even smiles. “Well then, we’d better get to Seventy-Nines before it’s too late.”

           “Isn’t it a little _early_ for a drink?” Rex asked, in a voice he knew full well some troopers called “judgmental”.

           “Hey. The sooner we go, the longer we’ll have to catch up.”

           Rex gave in without too much hesitation. “Alright. Seventy-Nines it is.” He was glad to see Cody. They all knew that each mission could be their last, and lately he appreciated times like this all the more for their infrequency.

           Twenty minutes later, they were at a table, and Cody was clinking ice cubes around in a glass of kri’gee.

           Rex flicked Cody’s glass with his finger. “I thought you said we weren’t getting drunk.”

           “We’re not _drunk_ ,” Cody said loudly over the frenetic music in the background. “Anyway… you’d think they would have kept us out there longer. Everyone knows those cities are under Separatist control now, but General Plo Koon says we can’t strike until they come out in the open. And then there’s this new assault plan, so we can’t keep all our men just waiting when there are other battles to fight. So I got sent back to General Kenobi.”

           “You were working with the Wolf Pack, right?” Rex asked, his own glass of ne’tra gal barely touched. “How’d you get along with them?”

           “Wolf Pack,” Cody laughed under his breath. “Yeah… Wolffe’s as capable as people say. He planned more of the strategies we used than the General did. I used to think he was just full of himself.” Cody took a quick sip. “But he is smart. _Really_ smart. And focused.” Cody made a sharp hand motion from his eyes toward Rex’s face, almost a salute. “General Plo’s lucky to have him.” The Commander paused with a rueful smile. “Heh. I can see why some troopers think he’s some sort of super-Commander. It’s a good thing I left when I did, or it might have rubbed off on some of my men. Well… more than it did already, I mean.”

           “Like who?”

           “Wooley.” Cody rolled his eyes a little.

           “Wooley?” Rex raised his eyebrows. “Last time we talked, you were saying he worships you.”

           “Yeah, well… apparently my scar’s not as impressive as Wolffe’s.” Cody smiled around another sip of kri’gee. “Yap and Pacer practically volunteered to stay behind. Viper was trying so hard to look cool in front of Wolffe, he nearly got himself killed showing off. That rookie tried to take on a whole group of sentry droids on his own… he could have lost both his legs!”

           “He could have lost a lot more than that,” Rex added.

           “We had to carry that kid all the way back to base, and he was no use to us after that.”

           “So,” Rex said. “You’re glad to be done with this assignment. It doesn’t sound like you enjoyed working with Commander Wolffe.”

           “Ah, he wasn’t so bad. To be honest… I feel sorry for him.” Cody grimaced sadly. “The guy doesn’t really have a sense of humor. If General Kenobi had been there cracking jokes like he does sometimes, they would have gone right over his head.”

           “Was he like that before the _Triumphant_ was destroyed?” Rex wondered.

           “I think so. Just how he is. Anyway, for being mostly a reconnaissance mission, it was pretty rough out there. Planet’s full of clankers already, even if they’re not _officially_ under Separatist control. And even when we found their base, they’d set these traps, right, almost worse than buzz droids.” Cody sighed and held his glass up, perhaps startled to see nearly half of it gone. “We lost a lot of men just trying to break in. If they get control of all those ships, we’re gonna be in a world of trouble.”

           “Let’s hope that doesn’t put a wrench in the new assault plans,” said Rex, finally taking a long sip of his drink. It had been a while since he’d visited Seventy-Nines, and the ale was better than he remembered.

           “Yeah.” Cody fell silent, just looking at Rex thoughtfully over his glass.

           “What?” Rex asked.

           “Ah, nothing. Just wondering how long this big plan will take.”

           They both went quiet with unspoken thoughts. The music blared on, but in that moment, it and the energetic patrons around them seemed distant.

           Eventually, Rex said, “Do you ever wonder if the Jedi are right, and there’s no such thing as luck?”

           Cody glanced at him. “Heh. Officially, the Jedi are always right. But if you’re asking whether I believe everything happens for some important, mysterious reason… no, I don’t really believe that. Why?”

           “I was just thinking… how would a Jedi explain why some of us are dead after one hit by a brainless battle droid, and then there’s some people like you and me, still alive against all the odds. If I hadn’t been exactly where I was when that bomb went off, I wouldn’t be here.” Rex jabbed a finger at the table they were sitting at. “If….”

           Rex stopped short of telling Cody about what General Skywalker had done to save him. And then he wondered why. What was he afraid of?

           “Cut it out, Rex.” Cody pretended to be annoyed. “Everyone knows if you talk about how many lucky breaks you’ve had before a big battle, you’re gonna jinx yourself.”

           “I’m sure the Jedi would have a thing or two to say about a superstition like that,” Rex said wryly.

           “Still, best not to take chances,” Cody said more seriously. “Mostly we’re alive because we’re not careless.”

           “There are a lot of dead men who weren’t any more careless than us,” Rex pointed out.

           “I know,” said Cody. “I know. Maybe… the Jedi would say we were meant to survive so we could play some important part in future battles. But I wouldn’t think about it too hard.”

           “Yeah,” Rex agreed, still debating whether to tell Cody about the blood transfusion. Perhaps the moment had already passed. It wasn’t really important for anyone to know, especially now that Master Yoda had confirmed there would be no unusual effects.

           “Listen,” Cody said, quietly because the music had gone softer as well. “You’re not feeling guilty, are you?”

           “What? You mean because of my men?” Rex looked up; Cody looked a little worried. “No. There’s no point in what-ifs. We all did what we thought we had to.”

           “Okay. Any other reason you’re thinking so hard about this all of a sudden?”

           “Not really. Just hoping our luck holds out.”

           “It has so far. So, starting tomorrow, here we go again.” Cody smiled and lifted his half-empty glass. “To the future.”

           Rex clinked his own glass against it gently. “The future,” he echoed, wondering again what lay in store for them on the other side of this war. He knew what he _hoped_ would be there—or who, anyway. Some people, it was hard to imagine being absent in whatever future they created, and one of them was sitting right across from Rex, taking a long swig of kri’gee.

           Cody laughed when he put his glass down. “Wow, that _is_ strong.”

           “Maybe we oughtta switch to lum.” Rex grinned. “We’ve still got the rest of the day.”

           “You know I never drink that stuff.”

           “Yeah? You also _never_ get drunk enough to have a hangover,” Rex deadpanned.

           “Oh, come _on_. That was one time!”

           Rex laughed under his breath. “I’m just givin’ you a hard time.”

           “I should be the one teasing you,” Cody complained, but he was smiling. “ _I’m_ the Commander.”

           “Well, _Commander_ ,” Rex said, “What say we have a little trade?”

           He pushed his drink across the table and pulled Cody’s toward him.

           “To the Republic,” he said, lifting the kri’gee. Cody raised his eyebrows at the sight of his ale in Rex’s hand before he lifted Rex’s glass with a grin.

           “And a swift victory on Ringo Vinda.”

           The kri’gee burned Rex’s throat, but he didn’t mind. Cody was right. They weren’t careless, and they knew their limits; they could afford to leave some things to tomorrow.

…

            _Ringo Vinda._

           The battle had been days long already. Every time they cleared one section of the station, the droids somehow managed to fill in the spaces they left behind. It was like trying to dig a hole in loose sand. Sleep was a luxury snatched in minutes rather than hours; Rex had stopped keeping track of how many he’d need to make up if they ever got away from this place.

           When General Skywalker proposed a new formational strategy to burn a path through the station to Admiral Trench, the feeling was nearly unanimous: everyone wanted to get this over with. Generals Tiplee and Tiplar split off from behind them to clear a parallel hallway, while General Skywalker forged ahead of Rex and his men, deflecting blaster fire with his lightsaber.

           Rex advanced steadily half a step behind him, blasting droids right and left in a hyperaware daze. They were almost there, the smaller groups spread out to eliminate any fresh waves of droids from the many surrounding intersections. The rocking of the pistols in his hands and the whirl of Skywalker’s saber was a steady rhythm, occasionally punctuated by the grunts or cries of men who got hit behind him. He couldn’t turn aside until the path was cleared. This was his job—the others behind him would take care of each other.

           Ten steps, ten more, and they were at the door, surging through it while General Skywalker turned to deflect fire until they were all inside.

           The hum and whine of the other Generals slashing down the last remaining droids dissipated, and then it was quiet. Rex took a deep breath inside his helmet, ears ringing as if the blaster fire was still going.

           “Don’t get too comfortable,” General Skywalker announced. “This battle hasn’t been won yet.”

           As Rex knelt to call up the map of the station, Fives and Tup came up close next to him.

           “General Skywalker,” said one of the sisters. “We must get to the command post. Admiral Trench has sent for reinforcements. We must take this post before they arrive.”

           All three Generals knelt to survey Rex’s map.

           “It’s time for phase two,” Skywalker said. Rex could hear the stress in his voice, subtle under the clear authoritative tone. “We’re at this position.” The General pointed at an oval convergence of several corridors on the map. “Tiplar, you’ll take your men down this passageway. Tiplee, you’ll move along here.” Skywalker’s hand was steady as he pointed out the two parallel passages. “They’ll have to divide their forces to counter us, and when they do, Rex and I will press through the middle. If we time it right, we’ll all converge on this spot at the same time. The droids won’t know what hit ‘em.”

           Commander Doom shifted from where he stood behind Tiplar. His voice was low and rough. “If we’re making a run, we’ll need back up. My men are severely depleted.”

           Rex looked over at the handful of green-painted troopers behind Doom. “Severely depleted” was an understatement. Barely any of Doom’s men had made it this far, even despite the shields they’d been using. Bodies littered the hallways they’d just come through, but Rex hadn’t realized until now just how lucky his own men had been in comparison.

           “Fives,” Skywalker said immediately. “You and Tup take ten of your best men and support Master Tiplar.”

           “We’re on it, sir!” said Fives.

           Skywalker stood. Rex turned off the hologram and followed him toward the doors, signaling those who weren’t supporting Tiplar to fall in behind. Not even five minutes’ rest. But they had to strike while the passage was relatively clear, otherwise they’d get hemmed in again and lose the ground they’d gained.

           As the door opened, the General leaped out in a whirl of blue light, mowing droids down like metal weeds. The end of the passage wasn’t as far as it had seemed on the map.

           Within minutes of steady blasting and slashing, all three groups had reached their goal; the blast doors opened to a criss-cross of blaster and cannon fire, red blurs coming toward them in a deafening high-pitched chorus as droids swarmed onto the floor from the opposite doors, like ants from a hill.

           “Cover me!” Skywalker yelled, hurtling toward the nearest DSD1 dwarf spider droid. General Tiplar was already on top of another one.

           “Push forward!” Rex yelled, and heard Fives calling the same to his left. “Cover the Generals!”

           He rolled through a crowd of clankers to get a better angle on the ones who had their rifles aimed at Skywalker. Three of those fell before the ones he’d landed by turned their guns on him; a moment later he had _them_ tripped, thrown, and smoking from holes in the head. Diving behind a storage cube, he hit two more as Skywalker finished off the spider droid and jumped back into the fray.

           “On your right!” General Tiplee cried, and Rex whirled to press both pistols into a pair of droids that had snuck up on him in the chaos. He wasn’t sure if the warning had been for him or for Skywalker; the General had just used the Force to topple a wall of droids that had been moments away from filling him with holes.

           “Tup, _NO!_ ”

           Rex turned with a sinking feeling, prepared to see that Tup had just been shot down. Instead he saw General Tiplar crumple to the ground, Tup standing over her with the rifle in his hands.

           “ _Sister!_ ”

           For a moment, Rex felt nothing. He wrestled and shot his way through a dozen more battle droids before he could jerk his eyes back to the scene which had been a blur among the chaos of the battle. Just another death in a long string of deaths—the shot that killed General Tiplar had not been distinguishable from the rest of the gunfire raging around them. It could happen that quietly.

           Fives was on Tup now. They were both on the ground and Rex still couldn’t believe it.

           “Hold your position!” Skywalker called.

           Tiplee ignored him and ran to her sister’s still form. Fives hauled Tup to his feet and dragged him backwards, an arm around his throat.

           “Destroyers!” Commander Doom yelled, and Rex pulled himself back into the battle, jumping out of the way just in time to avoid the new onslaught of droideka blaster fire. He grabbed some droid poppers and set about trying to clear a path so they could be accurately rolled inside the Destroyers’ shields.

           He was just about ready when Skywalker called again.

           “We’ve lost our momentum! Fall back!”

           Rex rolled two of the grenades before whipping his pistols back out and hurrying backward to fall in place beside his General. Tiplee was carrying her sister’s body, and Fives had fallen to a crouch just behind Skywalker; it looked like he was saying something to Tup. His hands were full holding him down. In two quick lunges, Rex shifted position so he could cover Fives from the other side.

           In those few seconds, the Destroyers formed an unbroken line of ray shielding from one wall to the other—their guns pummeled at the metal shields Doom’s men huddled behind. Rex caught himself breathing hard even though he’d been keeping a steady pace for the last few hours. Adrenaline vibrated through him with every squeeze of the trigger.

           “Fives!” Skywalker yelled as soon as he’d come close enough to be heard. “I don’t know what’s going on; you were responsible for Tup, now _get him back to base!_ I want answers!”

           Rex stuck by Fives as they fell back, clearing a path for them to the room they’d taken before. Whenever he came close enough to the two of them, he heard Tup muttering something under his breath, but couldn’t make it out. The trooper’s helmet was nowhere to be seen.

           “Tup, what is going _on?!_ ” Fives yowled as Tup suddenly lunged forward in his arms. “ _What_ is wrong with you?”

           Over the sound of the blast door shutting behind them, Rex could only make out something that sounded like “follow orders”.

           “What orders?!” Fives ducked as a blaster bolt nearly fried his face.

           “Just hold tight ‘til we get back to base!” Rex yelled, heart racing as he struggled to keep up with the battle droids converging on where Fives and Tup were walking. “You can talk to him then!”

           “Right!” Fives ran with Tup in a staggered sideways gait, yelling wordlessly at the handful of droids that were blocking his way. Rex ran behind and blew them away with multiple shots to the chest and head, kicking one straggler down as he passed.

           They rushed into the room.

           “Guard the doors until the Generals arrive!” Rex told his men.

           Fives was already pulling Tup into a small alcove. Rex brought out a pair of binders and yanked Tup’s arms behind him to snap them on. Tup didn’t resist. He didn’t look at Rex or Fives—he just stared off when Rex stepped back to take a better look at him.

           Fives pushed Tup down to sit on the bench. He crouched in front of him, mouth open in dismay. “Tup, what happened back there? Talk to me!” He shook his friend by the shoulders.

           “What’s going on?” Kix ran in. “Someone said _Tup_ shot General Tiplar!”

           “He did,” Fives said in a low voice, straightening. He stared at Tup helplessly. “I…I saw him do it.”

           “Did he say _why?_ ” Rex asked. His heartbeat was slowing now, the adrenaline rush leaving a subtle shakiness behind. Tup’s eyes never focused on any of them, and his head rolled forward now, his body slouching over.

           “No!” Fives barely took his eyes off his friend, fear written deeply on his face. “He—a few minutes before he… he was acting… _weird_. He said he didn’t feel like himself, and he kept freezing up. I _tried_ to snap him out of it, but….”

           Rex looked over his shoulder. The noises of battle had stopped, and General Skywalker had just exchanged words with General Tiplee as she cradled her sister’s body on the floor.

           “How’s he doin’, Rex?” Skywalker approached with a grim look on his face.

           “I’m… not sure, General,” Rex sighed tightly. “It seems like he just… snapped.” Rex crouched and shook Tup by the shoulder sharply. “Tup! Can you hear me?”

           “Y… yes, Captain,” Tup started as if he’d been asleep. He kept eye contact. That was good.

           “What happened?”

           “W-what do you mean?” Tup stammered. He looked disoriented. And scared.

           A dark heat spread in Rex’s gut. He shook Tup again, harder “Do you have any idea what you’ve _done?_ ” he half-growled, pointing toward General Tiplar’s body.

           Tup’s head jerked, his eyes widening, and for a moment Rex expected the man to break down and confess, or spit out some wild accusation, like traitors always did. But Tup wasn’t even looking at him. His eyes roved from left to right to left, his head lolling slightly.

           “Good soldiers follow orders,” Tup said in a dark, breathy monotone. “Good soldiers follow orders… good soldiers follow orders….”

           Rex stared, the tips of his fingers going cold. This wasn’t Tup. He had the distinct feeling that the soldier he and Fives knew was far away, buried—eaten by something completely unfamiliar. He’d heard Cody tell stories about mind controlling worms on Geonosis, zombie soldiers animated by an insect hive mind, and for one wild moment Rex wondered if Tup was dead, had been dead this whole time.

           “Good soldiers follow orders… good soldiers follow orders… good soldiers follow orders… good soldiers follow orders….”

           There was no change in the tone of Tup’s voice. He breathed out each repetition half under his breath, like a rookie trying to memorize the reg manual. Rex folded his arms. He had to get a hold of himself, keep a straight face even behind the mask of his helmet.

           “What is he talking about?” Kix fretted, kneeling to get a better look at Tup’s downturned face.

           “I have _no_ idea,” said Rex.

           Kix laid a hand on Tup’s face, pulling his eyelid up to check the dilation of his pupils. Tup showed no response to the touch apart from a slight twitch in his eyelid.

           “Good soldiers follow orders, good soldiers follow orders…”

           Was it Rex’s imagination, or was the chanting coming faster now? Tup’s monotonous voice seemed shaded with desperation.

           “Good soldiers follow orders, good soldiers follow orders, good soldiers follow orders—”

           Kix waved a hand in front of Tup’s face, frowning when Tup stared right past his fingers.

           “Good soldiers follow orders… kill… the Jedi….”

           Rex jerked forward, but Tup had already bowled Kix over with a feral scream, lunging for General Tiplee. She raised her hand

           A strangled cry was wrenched from Tup’s throat as she threw him back against the wall and held him there with the Force.

           Rex stood helplessly and watched. He braced himself to act—to restrain Fives, to ask the General to stop, he wasn’t sure yet which. Tup writhed against the wall, armor clattering.

           Skywalker laid a hand firmly on Tiplee’s arm. “We have to get him back to the medical bay before he hurts anyone else.”

           Tiplee’s face was pinched with anger, but she nodded. With a horrible gasp, Tup slid down the wall and panted, his breath ragged. Kix and Fives fell to their knees beside him.

           “Do whatever you have to, to get him under control,” Skywalker said to Rex in an undertone. “It’s going to be hard enough fighting our way back to the medical bay.”

           “Understood, sir,” Rex said.

           “Tup… Tup, come _on_.” Fives pulled Tup’s chin up, tried to make him focus. “Say something.”

           “Good… soldiers….” Tup rattled.

           “I think we better sedate him.” Kix pulled out a hypospray with an apologetic look to Fives. “Then one or two of us can carry him back.”

           Fives nodded, jaw clenched, and angled Tup’s head so Kix could get the shot in easier.

           “Orders….” Tup slumped against Fives. Fives hefted him up over his shoulders, rising to his feet with a little effort, and Rex reached out to steady him.

           “Thanks,” Fives said. “Kix, hand me my helmet, will you?”

           Kix fetched it off the ground. A moment later they all looked at each other from behind their visors. It was easier sometimes, Rex thought, to face things without their faces visible.

           “Let’s go, men,” he commanded. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

           “Here you go, buddy,” Kix said sadly, sliding a spare helmet onto Tup’s head. “Don’t want those clankers taking any cheap shots.”

           “They’re not getting any while _I’m_ around,” Fives growled, shifting his posture so he could hold Tup and his blaster at the same time. “Let’s go.”

…

           The ache and worry was still with Rex when he woke suddenly to the silent walls of the medical frigate. Fives was sitting by Tup, his chin propped up on the backs of his hands, resting on the end of his rifle. The sight reminded him immediately of how upside-down things had turned within the space of a day and the immense effort it had taken to finally get Tup safely on his way to Kamino. And although the days of fighting had been hard, the circumstances of Tup’s betrayal weighed heaviest. They were all shaken by seeing one of their own turn so silently and completely, never mind the inexplicable chanting, but Fives was undeniably the most rattled of all. Rex stood and walked over to put a hand on the trooper’s shoulder.

           “You go on and get some rest, Fives,” he offered. “I’ll stay with Tup.”

           A complicated expression moved over Fives’ face as he looked up at the Captain. “I’m… not sure if I can sleep right now. It’s alright. I don’t mind staying up.”

           “That was an order,” Rex said sternly. “You’ve hardly slept at all since the battle started. We’ll probably have to return to the front lines as soon as we hand Tup over to the doctors on Kamino. There’s no room for slip-ups on this campaign. We can’t risk fighting with soldiers who aren’t healthy.”

           Fives looked away and sighed heavily. The longer Rex stared at Tup's inert form, the more tension he felt rising in his gut. Something about this whole situation meant change on the horizon for all of them. Rumors of a Sith virus designed to make clones turn senselessly violent was unsettling to say the least. If something like that spread, how could they possibly keep up the fight?

           Rex told himself that it was useless to worry until they had some answers about Tup’s condition. For the moment, he only hoped that the doctors on Kamino found the truth.

           “I just don’t get it,” Fives grumbled. “How could a _virus_ do something like this? Tup doesn’t have any memory of what he did. It’s like he’s not even himself! And what’s all this ‘good soldiers follow orders’ thing about?”

           “I dunno,” Rex sighed. “But I don’t like it.”

           Fives stared hard at Tup. “Maybe the enemy got to him while he was missing? How many rotations was that?"

           "Four or five.”

           "He seemed normal when we found him. I just thought he was tired."

           "I don’t think the enemy could have brainwashed him while he was stuck in that cave in,” Rex said, remembering the explosion that had cut Tup off from the rest of them. "He spent all that time trying to dig free of all that debris… he and Comma were both worn out when we got to them. If there was a way for the enemy to get to them while they were in there, there would have been a way for them both to get out before we found them.”

           “Yeah… you’re right.” Fives sighed.

           “If we hadn't got pushed back that way, we never would have realized those two were still alive.”

           “If Comma hadn't been killed by that Destroyer, we would know if it happened while they were trapped together.” Fives' hands moved in restless gestures. “All I know is, before we got to that room where General Tiplar died, Tup was _not_ acting crazy. We talked to each other whenever there was a break in the fighting, just like we always do. He was fine! How could he be fine one second, and… and _kill a Jedi_ the next? And if it's a virus, how can it just turn off and on like that? It’s like something triggered it… but… the conditions of the battle hadn’t changed _that_ much.” A frustrated noise came from the back of his throat. “I just can’t figure it out. Doesn’t it worry you? What if this could happen to the rest of us?”

           “Of course it worries me,” Rex said. It worried him more than he cared to admit. “But like Kix said, we just don’t have the ability to figure out what’s wrong with him on our own. Our duty is to get Tup safely to Kamino. They’ll know what’s wrong with him….”

           So he hoped. But if this was the handiwork of the Sith, they would have tried to develop something that was incurable or too fast-spreading for the Kaminoan doctors to prevent. Rex could see Fives turning things over and over in his mind. The trooper was going to keep going around in circles until he wore himself down.

           “Hey.” He shoved Fives to nudge him off the stool by Tup’s bed. “Didn’t I just order you to go get some rest?”

           “Alright, alright,” Fives grinned, but it was short-lived. “You’ll wake me up if anything changes, won’t you, sir? I… I want to be there for him if he dies.”

           Rex nodded. “I will. Now go!”

           Fives gave a weak smile in thanks before laying a hand on Tup’s arm. “Hang in there, buddy,” he said, so quietly Rex barely heard it.

           As Fives’ footsteps retreated to the cot in the back of the ship, Rex took his place on the seat by Tup’s bed and stared at the sedated trooper. He did not look good. Tup was pale, the teardrop tattoo under his right eye standing out more starkly than normal. His breaths came rhythmically, audibly against the breathing mask he wore, and every so often his arms and legs seized as if even in his sleep he was tormented by a mindless urge to kill. He had looked so scared when Fives had told him what he’d done. Rex had seen men panic before, but not like this… not panic in the face of one’s self, strapped down and surrounded by allies.

           If this _was_ some plan of the enemy’s, to make the Grand Army of the Republic turn against the Republic itself, why was it killing Tup? Rex glanced over his shoulder at where Fives was lying, trying to sleep. The thought that he and the rest of the men could snap like this at any moment couldn’t be ignored. They were all the same. What affected one would logically affect all of them the same way. Perhaps that was the enemy’s plan—make the clone armies turn against each other and then die off like insects once their use had been fulfilled. It reminded him all too much of how General Krell had lied to them and sent them out into the mists of Umbara to wipe each other out. The sick anger and betrayal they’d all felt that day was still lodged in Rex’s throat whenever he thought about it.

           He couldn’t let that happen. No way would he stand by this time and let himself and his men be turned against their brothers. As soon as they got back, he was going to have a talk with General Skywalker… before something even worse happened.

…

           “Welcome back, Captain!” Jesse clapped Rex on the arm, grinning wide.

           The trip to Kamino had mercifully concluded without incident, and Rex was pleased to find the battle had been going well upon his return to Ringo Vinda. They had managed to slip past the enemy ships in the midst of a quickly-won firefight, and now all that was left was to clean up the last of the droid stragglers inside the station.

           “Where’s Fives?” Kix asked.

           “He had to stay behind,” said Rex, and left it at that when he saw General Skywalker approaching. “Excuse me.” He moved past his men and hurried to meet the General. Skywalker stopped and let him approach.

           “Hey, Rex! I’m guessing the rest of your flight to Kamino went off without a hitch?”

           “Yes, sir. Could I have a word with you in private?”

           Skywalker’s relieved smile faded quickly. He nodded and turned aside into one of the many empty shuttles in the hangar. They found the cockpit empty, but Rex didn’t sit, and the General turned to face him squarely.

           “Alright. What’s on your mind?”

           “Sir. Nala Se—the doctor on Kamino who’s taking care of Tup—she asked that Fives be kept behind in case he’d been infected by the virus or… whatever it is that’s making Tup act this way. But if Fives has been infected, then so have I. And so have all the rest of the men who were near him. I didn’t want to disobey your orders to return to the battlefield, sir, but I respectfully ask that I be allowed to return to Kamino as soon as possible.”

           The General’s expression was thoughtful, but unconcerned. “Did the doctor actually say Fives was infected?”

           “No, sir, she just said he might be. But even if he isn’t, I probably am, and at least he’s under Kaminoan supervision now. I may not seem infected yet, but it could be waiting for the right trigger. Tup seemed perfectly fine before he snapped too.”

           “What makes you think _you’re_ infected?” Anakin peered at him suspiciously. “Are you saying you feel something?”

           “No, sir. I feel just the same as always.” Rex glanced away a moment, reconsidering what to say. “But _you_ heard what General Tiplee said about an anti-clone virus. Fives and I are the most likely to have had it passed on to us; we’ve been with Tup the most since he snapped.”

           “But I need you here,” Skywalker said stubbornly. “It’s bad enough Fives didn’t come back! I need all my best men in case the Separatists regroup to try and take back the station.”

           “Do you really think that’s going to happen, sir? Isn’t it better to send us away instead of losing us to this virus first, and maybe—”

           “Rex, come on,” Skywalker laughed nervously, reaching toward his shoulder. “That’s not going to happen. I know this situation’s got all of us a little scared, but—”

           “I’m not scared of what will happen to _me_ , General!” Rex said, shrugging away from the General’s hand and pointing out toward the troopers in the rest of the hangar. “I’m scared of what might happen to everyone else! To you, and all the rest of the Jedi, and my brothers!”

           “You’re going to be fighting right next to me for the rest of this battle,” Skywalker said. “Don’t you think I could stop you from anything you might try to do? Unless… there’s something you’re not telling me?”

           “No, sir,” Rex repeated. “But I have a bad feeling about this.”

           Skywalker’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? Are you saying you _sense_ something?”

           “Of course not, General.” Rex had almost forgotten about the General’s vision. “Nothing like that. But with all due respect, I think it would be wise to take the situation a little more seriously.”

           “I _am_ taking it seriously. What do you want me to do?” Skywalker asked, spreading his hands. “Send the entire squad back to Kamino and clean up the rest of the droids myself?”

           “That wasn’t what I suggested. I’m only requesting that _I_ be sent back to Kamino for now. You managed without me while we were taking Tup home. Whether I show signs of infection first or they find a cure, I’d rather be there instead of here when it happens.”

           “Hmm.” Skywalker did not look happy about that. “I think there _is_ something you’re not telling me. You seem awfully sure you’re going to end up like Tup.”

           Rex hesitated. The images that lived in the back of his mind were not something he had ever shared with anyone. They were things never meant to be consciously recalled, and he couldn’t put them into words now. So he chose a half truth instead.

           “Maybe I’m starting to wonder if your vision was on to something after all.”

           “Oh.” The General clenched his fists and half-folded his arms. “Well, you might have a point, then.” He fell silent and Rex waited, letting him work it out on his own. Rex still couldn’t really believe he would ever use the Force, or ever try to talk his friends into a betrayal of all they had fought and died for. This vision couldn’t really be true… he couldn’t believe that. But he had to use whatever he could to get the General’s permission.

           “I’m sticking with what Master Yoda said,” Skywalker said at last. “Until something happens, your place is here.” He pointed at the ground right next to him. “That’s my final decision.”

           And that was that. “Yes, sir,” Rex said, and was glad to be dismissed.

…

           He found Kix and Jesse checking their equipment in a supply room off the main hangar. They wasted no time in asking after Tup and Fives.

           “They’re just running some tests on Fives,” Rex said. “To make sure he’s not also infected.”

           “Did they say they could save Tup or not?” Jesse asked.

           “No. Nothing for sure. But they’ve got their best doctor working on him.”

           “Poor Tup. I wish I could have done more to help him,” Kix sighed. “But I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

           Rex took a deep breath, glancing around to make sure none of the other troopers were close enough to hear. “Listen... I need to ask both of you a favor.”

           Jesse and Kix kept their eyes on him, waiting.

           “What is it, Captain?” Kix asked.

           “If I show _any_ sign of aggression toward Jedi,” Rex said, forcing himself to stare back at them. “Anything like what you saw Tup doing, I want you to shoot me down. Immediately.”

           “ _What?_ ” Kix blurted. Jesse just blinked as if he’d been smacked.

           “You can’t hesitate,” Rex continued firmly. “I talked to Fives. He said Tup only started acting strange a few minutes before shooting General Tiplar. There can _not_ be another incident like that.”

           “But Captain,” Kix struggled, almost laughing in his dismay. “Rex, you can’t—you’re not asking us to kill you? I’d stun you, sure, and take you to Kamino just like you and Fives did for Tup. But I am _not_ killing one of my own brothers—especially you!”

           “That is exactly what I’m asking you to do,” Rex said in a low voice. “We can’t let this virus spread to the rest of the army. Think of what could happen if every clone ended up like Tup!”

           “But,” Kix went on desperately, “Let’s be rational about this. What’s the point in targeting you specifically? I mean… how do we know all of us aren’t already infected?”

           “We don’t,” Rex said. “But since we can’t tell yet who is, the only thing we can do is eliminate the source of contagion whenever it shows itself. I expect you to take down _anyone_ you notice behaving strangely—but since Fives and I spent the most time in direct contact with Tup, I’m the most likely to be infected right now.”

           Kix opened his mouth to argue.

           Rex lifted a hand to cut him off. “I’ll make it an order if I have to.”

           “I’ll do it, Captain,” Jesse sighed.

           “Thanks Jesse. Kix? I need you to promise me you’ll do this. For the Republic. And for all the rest of your brothers. I’d rather die quickly by a blaster bolt to the head than watch some virus destroy everything I’ve fought for from the inside out. And I _know_ you feel the same way. We all do.”

           Kix took a deep breath and nodded once, looking miserable. “Yes sir,” he said quietly. “I promise.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue and events in this chapter were taken directly from episode 6x4 "Orders".

            In a brownish blur the padawan fell. Another shot pierced her back, then her head, just to be sure. He could only see a corner of her face.

            “What’s the matter? Rex?”

            The hushed but sharp voice cut into his mind, out of place amongst the blaster fire and familiar, pained voices. Someone grabbed his arm and he thrashed to get away.

            “Wake _up_ , Rex!” The hand shook him; his eyes opened to a dark ceiling and a familiar face.

            “Wha—Cody?” Rex gasped.

            “Yeah.”

            All at once the dream fell away, swallowed into the recesses of his mind, and he remembered: He was back on Coruscant. The battle was over.

            “What’s the matter with you?” Cody whispered roughly from where he stood by Rex’s bunk, but he didn’t look angry. “All this tossing around’s not helping me get any sleep, you know.”

            Rex looked around the command barracks; everyone lay quiet.

            “Sorry,” Rex said, and sat up, rubbing his aching head. He was still breathing a little faster than he should have. “What… what time is it?”

            “About oh-four-hundred hours,” Cody shrugged. “Are you okay now?”

            Rex nodded, although really, he felt sick. He felt flooded with an intense darkness, one continuing to surround him despite his wakefulness like a pack of menacing shadows in the night.

            Cody looked at him skeptically, arms folded. “Do I need to take you to a medic?”

            “I’m fine.” Rex sighed and lay back down. “Go back to sleep. Aren’t you shipping out tomorrow?”

            “Yeah. Ord Radama.” He heard Cody sit down on the lower bunk. “And you?”

            Rex breathed, trying to focus on reality and not on the images of Jedi dying—of feeling in himself an overwhelming imperative he couldn’t consciously accept, but was helpless to disobey. Tup’s voice ricocheted around in his skull. _Good soldiers follow orders._

            Rex shuddered, but spoke calmly. “I think we’re being held in reserve for the attack on Xagobah… as soon as you and the other fleets break through. I’ll be meeting with General Skywalker to discuss everything.”

            He hadn’t been summoned to any such meeting, but he knew one would be necessary. He couldn’t go to Xagobah with this hanging over him, not without at least trying to talk to the General again. And hopefully there would be some news of the conditions of Tup and Fives.

            “Well then. I’ll see you at the victory celebration afterward,” said Cody confidently.

            “Yeah.”

            “Hmm. What’s with that tone of voice?” Cody said. “You don’t think we’ll win? Have a little confidence in the Jedi’s plan.”

            “I’m sure _they_ all know what they’re doing,” Rex said to the ceiling. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

            “You’re worried about the men, then,” Cody guessed, voice low.

            Rex knew he didn’t have to say anything more. Cody had read him as well as he could have, under the circumstances.

            He jumped when the Commander’s face appeared next to his again. Cody jerked his head toward the door.

            “Hey. Let’s go for a walk.”

            “At oh-four-hundred hours?” Rex came up on one elbow. “I thought you wanted to sleep.”

            “Just a short one. We can talk without waking anyone else.”

            Cody stood back to let him get down off the top bunk, and together they crept toward the hallway. The door’s opening and closing was all too loud, but once they were on the other side, Rex already felt a little better.

            “I’d be pretty shook up too if one of my men tried to kill a Jedi,” Cody said immediately. “Heard anything more about this virus?”

            “Not yet.” Rex headed left. “I didn’t realize you knew about it.”

            Cody fell into step beside him. “I’m pretty sure the news was passed to all the commanding officers. Why wouldn’t it be?”

            Rex shrugged. “I guess I hoped there wouldn’t be any need to warn everybody else. But I am glad that the Jedi are taking this seriously.”

            “They don’t really have a choice, do they? After all, it was a Jedi Tup killed.”

            “Yeah.” Rex swallowed.

            The corridor was so quiet and empty. It felt a bit surreal, just him and Cody in a dim hallway with only their footsteps and voices. But safe.

            “I asked General Skywalker to send me back to Kamino,” Rex said, before he could hesitate. “Fives stayed behind because the doctors said Tup might have infected him. I figured… if he’s at risk, then so am I.”

            “And… General Skywalker said no?” Cody asked.

            “He said we wait for a sign that something’s wrong.” Rex glanced at Cody’s concerned look and sighed. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It’s not like….” It’s not like they didn’t go out to battle every day, knowing either one of them might not survive.

            “This isn’t like anything we’ve ever faced before,” said Cody. His tone said he understood.

            Rex glanced over again. Cody looked back at him simply; no avoidance, no questioning.

            “I prefer my enemies where I can see them.” Rex raised a hand as if aiming his pistol between the eyes of some invisible battle droid. But then he just stared at his palm. “We’re always supposed to be prepared for anything they can throw at us.”

            “Sounds like you’ve already decided what you have to do,” said Cody. “Can’t be much more prepared than that.”

            “Right.” The thought of his conversation with Jesse and Kix was chilling and comforting at the same time. And if the worst happened, and they were all infected… at least they would know their termination in that case would be just and necessary, not an execution at the whim of a madman.

            He heard Cody take a deep breath next to him and wondered if they shared a similar train of thought. They walked in silence for a few more minutes, and Rex tried to find something else to think about.

            “So. Ord Radama,” Rex finally said. “Isn’t that a swamp planet? I know how you hate swamps.”

            “Yeah,” Cody shrugged. “It’s all been paved over by cities now though, so… unless the separatists decide to hide in the muck, it won’t be so bad. Then again, knowing General Kenobi… we’ll end up enlisting some giant swamp snake in a sneak attack.”

            “Wouldn’t surprise me,” Rex agreed.

            “That’s the thing about General Kenobi,” said Cody, smirking. “He’s just as creative as General Skywalker, but without all the mess.”

            “Heh. What mess? _You_ didn’t see General Skywalker back on Ringo Vinda. That was one of the most well-coordinated attacks I have seen this entire war. Even after fighting for days straight, our casualties were much less than the other generals had. I mean… that is, until….”

            “Does General Skywalker usually listen to you?” Cody broke in, saving Rex from having to finish the thought.

            “What? Yeah… why?”

            “Just wondering.”

            Rex stared at Cody, curious about what spurred this train of thought. “Does General Kenobi usually listen to _you?_ ”

            “More often than not.” Cody’s tone was satisfied. “He respects my opinion. We’re… good friends, you might say.”

            “We got lucky,” Rex said gravely, thinking back on how leniently Skywalker had reacted to his outburst outside Master Yoda’s quarters. Some other captain might not have been given such free rein by his Jedi General. Most other Jedi might not hate clones like General Krell had, but Rex had his doubts that all Jedi respected clones as well as Skywalker and Kenobi did.

            “Yes… we got lucky,” Cody agreed. “I’m sure General Skywalker is doing what he thinks is best, keeping you on the front lines, but I’ll admit… I wonder what General Kenobi would say if you asked _him_ what to do.”

            “Who knows?” Rex said evenly. “I’m not his responsibility. And I could never go behind my General’s back like that.”

            “Oh, I wasn’t suggesting anything,” said Cody. “I just think I got the better Jedi.”

            “Well,” said Rex. “I’m just glad General Skywalker and General Kenobi work together so often.”

            “I’m with you there,” Cody agreed, briefly gripping his shoulder. “Wish you were coming to Ord Radama. I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

            They reached a fork in the hall and paused. The silence swallowed them again, and Rex’s dreams throbbed in the back of his head.

            “Guess we should head back,” Rex sighed.

            “You sure?” Cody looked unconvinced by Rex’s tone. “That wasn’t much of a walk. I could go around the whole way.” The left hallway would eventually lead them back to the command barracks

            Rex smiled a little despite himself. “Well… why not?”

            “We do need to sleep eventually, but, you know,” Cody waved a hand. “Just sometime. It won’t take us ten minutes to lap this.”

            “We’re just adding some extra security,” Rex agreed.

            “Exactly. Who needs armor?”

            “Or weapons.” As Rex laughed gratefully under his breath, he thought suddenly of Cut Lawquane, the deserter who had a wife and children and a farm somewhere on Saleucami. He thought of what he’d said to him as they’d parted to their separate lives. Rex really knew very little of family in the traditional sense, but as he and Cody walked close together down these quiet hallways, Rex just couldn’t find it in himself to believe that anyone felt more strongly about their family than he did for his.

            He would gladly give his life to protect them. And not just Cody, although they were especially close… there were so many of his brothers who would do—and had already done—the same. He could name them in strings of dozens if he wanted to. Hundreds, by now. And for those who were still fighting, who supported each other not only on the physical battlefield, but like this, on the battlefield of an unspoken nightmare, he would never let those nightmares come true. He would never stand by again, closing his eyes as his family was turned against itself by some twisted force, fooling himself into believing he was helpless.

…

            The wind was rarely too strong on Coruscant, or too cold. More often, it was tepid and restless, rippling out from the lanes of rushing air traffic. Rex squinted against the glint of Skywalker’s speeder as he landed. The General beckoned him over without getting out of the craft.

            Rex jogged across to him.

            “Morning, Captain Rex,” Skywalker said, twisting in the driver’s seat to face him. “I thought since you requested a private meeting, we could take a drive. We’re not likely to be overheard that way.”

            “Very good, General,” Rex said, and jumped neatly into the passenger seat. Skywalker had left the engine running, and pulled the shuttle up and away before Rex could say anything more.

            Once they had settled into the flow of traffic, Skywalker left one hand on the steering and looked over at Rex. “Alright, so what’s this all about?”

            “Before I explain, sir, I was wondering if you’ve heard any news about Tup’s condition.”

            “Right,” Skywalker grimaced. “I _have_ been trying to get through to Kamino, but they just keep telling me not to worry. All I know is that Fives and Tup are being kept under strict quarantine until a cure can be found.”

            “That’s good news, sir,” Rex said, although a more substantial update would have been nice. “I’d like to repeat my request that I be sent back to Kamino as soon as possible.”

            “Oh yeah? Has something changed that I should know about?” Skywalker didn’t look pleased.

            “Not… exactly, General. It just seems like the smart thing to do.”

            Skywalker narrowed his eyes, his hair whipping as he swerved the speeder into another lane. “You’re pretty insistent about this. It’s not like you to fight against my orders.”

            “I mean no disrespect, sir. But I do have a responsibility to my men.”

            “Yes you do: a responsibility to lead them. Are you saying your ability to do that has been compromised?”

            “No, sir. Not yet.” Rex frowned. “But… have you given any more thought to whether this is related to your vision?”

            “I have.” Skywalker narrowly avoided a traffic jam by detouring down a narrow alley. “I hate to say it, but the way Tup was acting isn’t anything like what I saw in my dream. You seemed fully aware of your actions. I’m not saying it isn’t related… it very well could be. But Master Yoda says that sometimes if we try too hard to prevent the future we see, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

            “I would request to be sent to Kamino even if you hadn’t had your vision, sir. This is a serious threat regardless of how it might relate to me specifically. Do you really want to risk being shot down by one of your own men?”

            “General Tiplar didn’t have any warning. I do. That’ll be enough to prevent it from happening again.”

            Rex fell silent. He didn’t know what more he could do to convince the General; stating the obvious never worked once Skywalker had made up his mind on something.

            They drove for several minutes before the General glanced over at him again.

            “Was there anything else you wanted to tell me, Rex?” Skywalker’s tone was almost parental. “Or will I have to keep wondering what’s making you take this so personally?”

            If he said no, he would be agreeing not to bring this up again. Rex hesitated.

            “You’re not the worrying type. There has to be something else on your mind. If you know something more, you need to tell me.”

            “It’s nothing, sir,” Rex sighed, staring out at the city. “I’ve just been having some bad dreams of my own, that’s all.”

            “What do you mean?” Skywalker’s voice slowed with seriousness. “What kind of dreams?”

            “Just combat dreams.” Rex kept his tone casual. “You know… but they’ve been a lot worse ever since Ringo Vinda. A lot more… specific….”

            “Describe them to me,” Anakin demanded.

            Rex looked over. “Is… that an order, General?”

            “Yes, it is.”

            “I’d rather not, sir.”

            Skywalker looked alarmed. “Rex, I _never_ have to repeat orders to you. These dreams can’t possibly be worse than anything we’ve already lived through in this war.”

            Rex looked down at his hands. “You’d be surprised, sir.”

            “Look. You can tell me about these nightmares, or we can head to the Jedi Temple right now and have one of the Jedi Masters ask you about them.”

            Of all the things Skywalker could have threatened, he just had to pick the very worst.

            “That won’t be necessary, General,” Rex said uncomfortably.

            The General waited for him to gather his thoughts. Rex didn’t even know how to begin.

            “They’re usually… pretty vague, anyway,” he fumbled. “Screams, people dying… but there aren’t any droids. It’s all people.”

            “Just random people? Or people you know?”

            “People I know.”

            Rex’s elbow was resting on the side of the speeder. He lifted his hand and rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes.

            “Like who?”

            Rex took a deep breath.

            “Jedi.”

            There, it was out. Just saying those two syllables set a hot current of nausea through his body like an electrical shock.

            “And you’re not able to hold back the enemy?” Skywalker’s voice was low, barely audible over the wind of their speed. “You’re trapped watching them die.”

            “No, sir,” Rex said shakily. “You don’t understand. It’s worse than that. I’m not the one defending the Jedi. I’m the one killing them.”

            A few seconds of chilled silence passed before Rex, feeling physically ill, forced himself to look at the General.

            Skywalker glanced back at him with an unreadable look before pulling the speeder suddenly into an open parking space.

            “Do _you_ think you’re seeing the future?” Skywalker spoke with hushed intensity as soon as they’d come to a complete stop.

            “If I am,” Rex said, “I’d rather not live to see it.”

            “But does it feel like the dream means anything?”

            “No, sir.” Rex swallowed, ashamed. “I’m sure it has to do with what happened to Tup. Seeing him kill General Tiplar like that… it… it must have triggered something.”

            “You said you have these dreams a lot?”

            “Yes, sir. But not this clearly.”

            “But it’s always Jedi?”

            Rex squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes.”

            “Was it anyone specific this time?”

            “Yes.”

            “Who was it?” Skywalker stared at him so intently it was almost a glare, and after a few awful seconds, Rex couldn’t keep eye contact. “Rex.”

            “I’m sorry, sir,” he said tightly. “I’m not trying to disobey orders—”

            “Just answer the question. A name. Any name.”

            Rex glanced desperately around to make sure there was no one near. The platform they were idling next to was empty.

            “Spit it out!”

            “General Kenobi. It was General Kenobi.” Rex stole a painful glimpse of Skywalker’s disturbed expression before he continued in a defeated whisper. “And… you as well, General. Both of you. And Commander Tano.”

            “Ahsoka too?” Skywalker stared at Rex, shock and disgust plain on his face.

            Rex nodded mutely and swallowed the nausea in his throat.

            “What kind of weapon were you using?”

            “Sir?” Rex hardly thought that was important.

            “What kind?” Skywalker repeated.

            “My DC-17s, I think.” Rex shut his eyes, miserably trying to remember details even though that was the last thing he wanted to do. “Yeah. Some kind of blaster, anyway. Why?”

            “Not a lightsaber,” Skywalker murmured. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

            “General… I don’t think my dreams have anything to do with seeing the future. How could they? I’m not a Jedi. I don’t think clones can _have_ prophetic visions.”

            “The Force is a part of every living thing,” Skywalker said half to himself, staring at his hands gripping the steering wheel. “It influences everything, whether we realize it or not… the only difference is that a Jedi is aware of the flow of the Force, and can make use of it. The will of the Force is the will of the universe for everything in it. That definitely includes clones.”

            “Unfortunately,” Rex muttered, “I don’t find that thought very reassuring right now.”

            “No one is immune from the lure of the Dark Side, Rex. Every Jedi can feel it, but we’re not the only ones who can fall.” For a moment the General looked uncomfortable in a different way, but then he focused back on Rex. “You did the right thing, telling me about this. But I’m not going to send you to Kamino. At least, not yet.”

            “But, sir—!”

            Anakin held up a hand to silence him. “I....” he looked conflicted. “I will talk to the Council about this.”

            Rex grimaced and looked away. The last thing he wanted was for the details of his... deficiency... to be advertised in front of the entire Jedi Council.

            “The Kaminoans are doing their own research on Tup and Fives already. Sending you there isn't going to help find a cure for this virus faster, and anyway,” Anakin glanced at Rex, “we both know something more sinister might be at work here. I think the Jedi will want to do their own tests.”

            Rex took a deep breath.

            Anakin continued. “If there’s any chance my vision and your dream are related... we’ve got to get to the bottom of this.” The General lifted the speeder up to swing back toward the barracks.

            Rex stayed silent and focused on the way the wind pressed into his skin, struggling to dispel the awful suffocating feeling that gripped him in the chest. He had never paid much attention to his dreams, knowing they were too awful to ever come true—dreams were illogical and people and places were often very different from their counterparts in reality. But the mere suggestion that such nightmares could mean something was enough to change the feeling surrounding the images into something much more incriminating.

            If Tup could kill a Jedi, maybe anything was possible.

            By the time Skywalker pulled onto the barracks’ landing pad, Rex had managed to calm down a bit simply by reminding himself over and over that worrying never won any battles.

            “I will contact you once the Council has made a decision,” Skywalker said. “In the meantime, try to limit your contact with others.”

            “I will continue to, sir,” Rex said, feeling slightly guilty about his impromptu walk with Cody. Rex climbed out onto the platform and turned to salute goodbye. “And I know you and the Council will do what’s best for the Republic.”

            Skywalker’s face, which had been set in a grim mask the whole drive back, relaxed slightly. “The fact that you’re so concerned about these dreams makes me feel pretty confident that you would never betray the Republic on your own. So let’s just hope we can figure out the enemy’s plan in time to stop them.”

            “Believe me, sir,” Rex said gruffly. “If the enemy plans to use me against you, they won’t succeed.”

            The General said nothing to that. He just stared searchingly at Rex for a long moment, before he pulled the speeder up and away into the air.

…

            “Rex! Come in, Captain.” Skywalker’s voice came urgently through Rex’s communicator just as he was about to clean up for the night.

            Rex snapped up the communicator. “What is it, General?”

            “There’s been a report that Fives tried to assassinate Chancellor Palpatine. I want you to order the 501st to—”

            Around the zinging chill down his spine, Rex forced himself to focus on the rest of the order.

            “—the search. He was last seen running in the general direction of the barracks. If we find him first, we can make sure he’s brought in alive for questioning!”

            “Yes, sir.” Rex said, thinking fast. “I’ll meet up with you at the transit terminal on the southwest corner of sector H. He’ll probably have to pass through there if he’s trying to get away on foot.”

            “I’ll see you there. Get your men moving!”

            Ten minutes later, Rex was in armor and dividing his troops via comm to systematically comb as much of the area surrounding the Senate district as they could. As his speeder bike tore through the night, his dread hardened into resolve. He gripped the controls tightly. This was it. Fives was already lost to this virus or whatever it was. Rex knew he was next. He probably only had a matter of hours left.

            When he and the half-dozen men who accompanied him landed on the terminal, the crowds were thick. The night was young and the city residents had a few hours to go before things really died down.

            “Spread out,” Rex ordered them, splitting them off to right and left with quick hand signals. “Check the ID of every clone you see!” He put his hands on his pistols but didn’t draw them as he watched his men disperse. The low whine of another speeder came up behind him, and he turned to see Skywalker hopping out.

            “Any sign of him?” the General asked.

            “No, sir. When did Fives arrive on Coruscant?”

            “Less than an hour ago.”

            “And Tup?” Rex asked, although he thought he knew.

            “He’s dead. Master Shaak Ti and the Kaminoan doctor brought Fives here so he could be examined at the hospital.” Skywalker led Rex behind a glass platform partition and sighed roughly. “Fives seems to be having delusions that the Jedi created some kind of conspiracy, and that that’s why Tup died. The Chancellor wanted to talk to him about it and find out if there was any truth to his claims… and that’s when Fives snapped and tried to kill him.”

            “I see,” Rex said calmly. “Have you mentioned my case to the Council yet?”

            “No,” Anakin said. “I haven't had the opportunity.”

            Rex said nothing, a cold, sick certainty settling into his nerves. He pressed his hands down on the handles of his pistols, feeling their reassuring weight on his belt.

            “I know what you’re thinking, Rex,” Skywalker said warningly. “But there’s still a chance to find a cure if we can catch Fives and figure out what’s going on!”

            “No, General,” Rex said firmly. “We are out of time. If Fives has snapped, I could go the same way any minute. I’m turning myself in for termination. Once you catch Fives… hopefully, between the two of us, the doctors will find enough information to prevent anyone else from ending up this way.”

            “What?” Skywalker gasped out a shocked breath, almost a laugh. “You can’t do that, Rex! You don’t even know yet that Fives is infected!” His voice started to rise. “He could be acting of his own free will!”

            “No!” Rex repeated. “I know Fives. He would never do this, sir, not without this virus affecting him. He would never try to harm the Chancellor! He was a good soldier—a good _man!_ ”

            “You’re talking like he’s dead already,” Skywalker said, his voice straining with forced patience. “We might still be able to save him, but in order to do that I need _you_ to help me find him! You can’t just run off and ask the Kaminoans to kill you! How is that supposed to help anything?!”

            “The longer I wait, the greater the chance of spreading this to the rest of the men!” Rex took in the crowd with a swift jerk of his arm.

            “But we don’t _know anything_ yet! What if you were never even infected? Fives could have gotten sick _after_ you left him on Kamino!”

            “Sterilization procedures would never have allowed that, sir. They would have been separately quarantined.” Rex shook his head and turned his back to the General, drawing his pistols although his men reported no threat. “No, General. I’ve accepted the truth of the situation, and I _will_ do what is necessary. _You’ve_ got to accept it, too. You’re a Jedi, sir. I know you understand situations like this.”

            “Jedi act from an understanding of principles, not from fear and supposition!” Skywalker growled. “And I am _not_ going to let you do something this drastic on a _guess!_ ”

            “We can’t hesitate, sir.” Rex couldn’t keep the pointed weight out of his voice. “ _Hesitation_ gets people _killed_. We’ve seen that proven over and over on the battlefield. We have been trained to sacrifice our lives if necessary, for the good of the team, and the Republic. Why is this any different?”

            “Because this is suicide you’re talking about!” The General shoved him lightly on the chest. Rex caught himself and stood firmly, unintimidated. “Don’t you value your own life? At least enough to ask for a diagnosis instead of a lethal injection?!”

            “I do value my life, General,” Rex said quietly. “As much as you value yours. As much as every one of these men values his own life—and that is why I have to do this. Because I’m no different from them, and my life is definitely not worth more than the lives of ten, of a hundred or a thousand or a million of theirs!”

            Skywalker pulled himself up to his full height, his face contorting in a quick series of conflicted emotion. For a moment Rex thought he was going to see sense. But then the General shook his head.

            “Look. I understand what you’re trying to say, but you’re a valuable Captain, Rex, and you’re avoiding your duty! You are _not_ just another clone—men like you don’t come along every day. I wasn’t kidding when I said I need you with me. No one else can do your job like you can.”

            The General’s voice had gone low, pulling at him with sincerity instead of outrage. It was just another tactic, a desperate one.

            “I’m sorry, sir, but that is simply not true.” Rex looked past the General, scanning the crowd and keeping a mental note on his men’s locations. “I’ve worked with many fine officers, and any one of them could serve you just as well. As for tonight, I’ve assigned Singer to lead the 501st in the search for Fives once I’m gone.”

            “Once you’re gone,” Skywalker muttered disgustedly under his breath. “I can’t believe you’re willing to throw your life away so lightly. I expect better from you, Rex. But it doesn’t matter… you’re still under my command, and I _order_ you to forget about this death-wish of yours and stick with the search until we’ve located Fives!”

            Rex opened his mouth and had to clench his jaw against the “yes, sir,” that instinctively waited at the back of his throat. He looked around at the crowd—his men had moved on—and thought of Fives out there, this madness killing him slowly, driving him on a desperate run through the underbelly of Coruscant. When his eyes settled again on Skywalker’s smugly commanding face, he felt the sickness from his dream, and the hurt and anger rose in his throat and came tumbling out in a quick, tight growl before he could stop them.

            “I don’t have a death-wish! _No_ clone wants to throw his life away! Maybe you forget that, sir. Maybe everyone does—because we _are_ all the same, we’re expendable, and generals like Krell only see us as cannon fodder! The casualties—the number of _dead clones_ —in this war keeps climbing by the hundreds, by the thousands some days! If every general allowed their clone commanders to seek the most strategic route instead of using them as a human shield like we were battle droids, those numbers would be much fewer. It’s not _us_ who are reckless with our lives, General! It’s not us who throw them away lightly!”

            Rex took a sharp breath to stop himself from saying any more. Skywalker’s stern, commanding expression had crumbled into dismay. His arms were limp at his sides.

            “Rex… do you really believe I think of you like that?”

            Rex took a few steps away and steeled himself to apologize for his outburst, but Skywalker went on in a saddened tone.

            “Haven’t I proven that I care about my men as individuals? You’re not just weapons to me… none of you are.”

            Rex lifted his head and looked at him steadily, remembering what Master Yoda had said about the General’s weaknesses. “I'm sorry, General. I _have_ always admired you. Every time we entered the battlefield, I knew I could trust you with the lives of my company. No war is without its casualties, but you were always looking for ways to limit them. And I thank you for that. I know the 501st will continue to be in good hands when I'm gone.”

            Skywalker clenched his fists. “Rex… do not do this.” He said it like an order, but Rex heard it as a plea.

            “Sorry, sir. If you try to stop me, I'll do it myself.”

            Rex raised his right hand; his grip on the pistol was firm, and he felt oddly calm. Skywalker’s face took on a wild look.

            “ _Rex!_ ” The General shouted, and reached out a hand to pull the pistol away, but at that moment, a beep sounded loudly in Rex’s ear. It was coming from his wrist communicator.

            “Captain Rex?” A clone’s voice came from the other end.

            Rex lowered the gun so he could speak into the communicator, but he kept his left hand raised.

            “This is Rex.”

            “This is Kix. I have a message for you. Are you alone? Is anyone else listening?”

            “It’s just me and General Skywalker. What is it?” Rex kept his voice low.

            “It’s Fives,” Kix’s voice sounded uneasy even over the communicator. “I ran into him a few seconds ago. He wants to meet with you and General Skywalker immediately. You can’t bring any other troops with you… said he had something important to tell you, sir.”

            “Where is he now?” Skywalker came close so he could speak to Kix as well. “Were you able to capture him?”

            “No, General.” There was a moment of silence on the link. “I… I let him go. I understand there will be consequences for that, sir. I accept full responsibility for my actions.”

            “Why didn’t you stop him?” Skywalker demanded. “We have to find him so the Jedi Council can question him before anyone else interferes!”

            “I’m sorry, sir. Fives said he’s being framed! He was talking about some kind of conspiracy against the Jedi. But he left before I could get him to explain anything else….”

            Rex looked at the General, alarmed. “Conspiracy _against_ the Jedi?” he breathed.

            “I told him to turn himself in, but he said he wanted to talk to you first, General. You and Captain Rex. He was pretty well convinced that this was the only way he’d have a chance to explain everything to you.”

            “I’ve got the coordinates, Kix,” Rex said. “Well done. General Skywalker and I were hoping to find him before anyone else. This just makes our job that much easier. Rex out.”

            “Where are we headed?” Skywalker asked as they both ran for his speeder.

            “Sector I-9.”

…

            It was silent in the transport as they hurried across the city, Rex seated above General Skywalker in the cockpit. His mind was racing. Kix seemed to believe Fives, despite what the medic had seen on Ringo Vinda. That must mean Fives was still fairly coherent. Perhaps the virus was acting on him more slowly. Rex wondered if he’d even recognize his friend.

            “If this virus is part of some plot against the Jedi,” Skywalker suddenly said, his voice grave, “Fives might be on to something after all. But that still doesn’t explain why he would try to assassinate the Chancellor. He’s going to have a lot to answer for if he survives this.”

            “Maybe he couldn’t help it, sir,” Rex said uneasily. “You saw what happened to Tup. He didn’t have any control over killing General Tiplar. Or someone could be framing Fives, like he said. What if Fives figured out who gave him the virus, and they decided that framing him would be the best way to make sure we never found out the truth?”

            “Hmm. Well… we’ll let him talk, but we’re going to have to take him into custody afterward either way.”

            “Understood.”

            They started their descent, deep into the shaft that allowed access to the lower levels. The collective light of the city faded and they were surrounded by the dimmer illumination of doorways and their own vehicle’s headlights. The two-man shuttle swerved gracefully down onto a small landing platform.

            Skywalker climbed out, and Rex hopped down from the top to follow, trying to shake himself free of a sense of impending disaster. There was hope of preventing the worst. Maybe even of saving Fives… despite all his attempts to be pragmatic, Rex could feel that hope swelling painfully in him.

            “Well,” Skywalker said over his shoulder as they walked toward the slim black opening between the warehouse doors. “These are the coordinates Kix gave us. Let’s hope Fives is inside.”

            “Eh,” Rex sighed unhappily. “I hope he knows what he’s doing.”

            For a moment, gazing into the dark interior of the warehouse, Rex wished he hadn’t left his helmet in the shuttle. But then Skywalker ignited his lightsaber. The blue glow cast stark shadows from the half-organized stacks of crates in front of them. Pistols held at the ready, Rex followed the General, knowing that Skywalker would be reaching out with the Force to anticipate any attack.

            “Fives?” Skywalker called. “Fives, we’re here.”

            Rex scanned the shadows, hating the queasy knot in his stomach that had kept coming back every night since he’d left Kamino. It was easy to imagine movement as the light from the lightsaber shifted along the walls. There was a ripple in the air, perhaps from the circulation system.

            “Come on out,” the General tried again. “We just wanna talk to you.”

            So Fives was here; Skywalker must sense it. They kept walking, Rex’s eyes roving methodically over the half-invisible shapes looming out of the darkness. Their steps seemed loud in the silence.

            “ _General Skywalker._ ” A rough, low voice. Fives’ voice, but it sounded wrong, husky, like Fives was short of breath or injured. Rex moved close behind the General and looked up. It sounded like the voice had come from above; it diffused, echoing through the building so that it was impossible to tell which direction it came from.

            “ _Thank you,_ ” said Fives. “ _Thank you for trusting me_. _Now have you come without troops?_ ”

            “We have,” Skywalker said warily, shifting so that he and Rex could cover each other’s backs. Rex kept his pistols up by his eyes, hoping he wouldn’t have to use them.

            “ _Put down your weapons, then!_ ”

            “I don’t think so, Fives,” said Skywalker.

            “Please, _sir!_ ” Fives’ desperate tone shifted to one of forced control. “ _Please… I’m unarmed_.”

            For a moment, Rex was sure the General would refuse. From an objective standpoint, this looked an awful lot like a trap. But Skywalker turned off the saber, and Rex blinked against the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Of course, in a battle between an unarmed clone and an unarmed Jedi, there was no contest.

            He felt Skywalker shift behind him. He could see the room more clearly now, and walked toward the nearest storage cube.

            “Alright,” Rex called. “I’m putting my pistols down.”

            He laid them on the cube and stepped back, raising his hands so that if Fives was watching, he would see that they were empty.

            “What are we here for, Fives?” Skywalker asked the ceiling.

            “ _I need your help_.”

            “I know you do,” Skywalker said, like a parent reminding a frantic child that he was listening. “We know you’re not well. It’s been rough for you these past couple days.”

            “ _I’m not crazy!_ ” Fives cried, and Rex clenched his teeth against what he heard in his friend’s voice. “ _Please_ … please, _just… just hear… what I have to say!_ ”

            The voice shifted until it was coming from behind them. Rex and Skywalker turned and started toward the sound.

            “We’re here to help you, Fives; just come with us!” Skywalker coaxed. “Let us take you back to the Temple.”

            A blinding light flashed; a ray shield surrounded them.

            “ _No!_ ” The General rushed forward to slam his fist against it. Rex frowned up at the emitter; the shield must have been set up to contain volatile goods in the warehouse as needed. He wondered if Fives had planned this as the meeting place for precisely that reason. Fives was just that smart.

            Something moved behind the crates, and Fives pulled himself around the corner, into view. His head was shaved bald; he was wearing armor, but not his own. Rex could only just make out his desperate expression from the light of the shield.

            “I just… need you to listen to me. _Please!_ ”

            “I’m not really sure we have any other choice!” Skywalker spat back, folding his arms.

            Fives stepped closer, throwing his arms wide, fists clenched as his voice cracked and shook with emotion between his shallow panting. “I was _framed!_ ” It was nearly a sob. “Because I know the truth! The truth about a plot…” One hand clutched at his head. “A massive deception!”

            Rex had already heard all this from Skywalker. They needed real details, and they needed them _now._ He stepped up next to Skywalker so Fives could see him. “By _whom?_ ”

            “Well there’s a sinister plot,” Fives fumbled, “in the works, against the Jedi!” His voice didn’t steady; if anything it was getting more erratic, and his hands jerked and grasped as he edged closer to them, barely seeming aware of his own movements. “I have proof of it!” he yelled, gasping. “I can _prove_ that everything I know is true beyond a _shadow of a doubt!_ ”

            “Show me the _evidence_ ,” Skywalker demanded.

            “The… evidence is….” Fives held his head with one hand, his voice faint with confusion. Rex didn’t want to see this, this struggle to hang on to whatever scrap of sanity Fives had left while the virus turned his intelligence into the babblings of a lunatic. There was no point in watching him suffer like this, all for some scrap of information which was probably heavily twisted by Fives’ mental state.

            “In here,” Fives blurted, pointing at his own head repeatedly. “It’s, i-it’s in here, it’s in all of us! _Every_ clone!”

            Rex’s breath caught. “What _is_ it?”

            “Organic chips, built into our genetic code,” Fives sighed in one low, exhausted breath. He knelt, resting his head against his arm, propped up on one of the crates. “To make us do whatever _someone_ wants…” His voice quaked. “Even kill the Jedi.”

            Rex’s stomach lurched.

            Fives stood and stepped toward the ray shield with a look of naked fear on his face. “It’s… all in here!” he insisted, pointing at his own temple, pleading.

            Skywalker glanced at Rex, his face still dark with anger. Rex rubbed the back of his neck, his skin prickling all over with horrified chills. Chips that could be used to control clones, like droids. It sounded crazy, especially when Fives choked it out like this. Rex was sure the technology existed, but that it could have been implanted at some point into hundreds of thousands of clones by the enemy was impossible to believe. Unless—

            “Let’s just get you some help first,” the General said, reverting to his parental tone, but somehow it sounded less genuine. “Then we can review everything. It’ll be okay, Fives, we’ll sort this out.”

            Fives’ face worked with uncertainty, then devastation. A strangled yell burst from him. “YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME!”

            Rex reached out a hand toward the ray shield, keeping his voice level and calm. If he could just get Fives to stop panicking….

            “Fives,” he tried, “We _are_ … listening to you. We only want to help.”

            “How do I know you’re not tricking me?” Fives kept rubbing the back of his neck, acting dizzy or pained. He looked at Rex and Skywalker as if they had personally betrayed him. “How do I know… it won’t be a trap?!” Fives was just on the other side of the ray shield now, staring Rex in the eyes with a tormented expression. “The Chancellor would try to kill me!” he snarled. “Now I _promise_ you that!”

            “The _Chancellor?_ ” Skywalker leaned forward.

            “He’s _in on it!_ ” Fives started pacing, covering his eyes and then clenching his fists, hunched over. “I don’t know to what extent, but I _know_ he orchestrated much of this!” He whirled back to face them. “He told me in the medical bay!”

            “ _He_ told you?” Skywalker asked, voice going hard. “When you tried to _assassinate_ him?! You have gone too far, Fives! The Chancellor isn’t capable of what you claim!”

            “He IS!” Fives threw up his hands. “I swear to you, General, you have no idea—!”

            “Stand down, soldier! _Stand down!_ ”

            All at once, at least half a dozen red-painted troopers rushed at them from the shadows, all their blasters pointed straight at Fives. Rex’s blood went cold as Fives whirled to face them.

            “ _Get on your knees!_ ” Commander Fox roared.

            “No!” Fives cried desperately, hands outstretched. “No no, _stay back!_ ” His head jerked to the left and Rex followed his gaze to where his pistols lay on the crate nearby.

            “Don’t do it!” Fox cried. “ _Don’t do it, soldier!_ ”

            “GET AWAY FROM ME!” Fives screamed.

            “Fives! NO!” Rex cried as Fives snatched up the pistol.

            One blaster shot. Fives’ breath left him roughly in one burst, but he kept gasping for it, choking on it. The pistol clattered to the ground at his feet.

            “ _Fives!_ ” Rex pressed close to the shield and saw Fives’ knees buckle, saw him fall onto his side, the hole in his chest still smoldering. “FIVES!”

            Rex pounded at the shield, not breathing either.

            “Fives….”

            “Get this ray shield off!” Skywalker commanded.

            Another shot, and the shield was gone. Rex fell to his knees by Fives and rolled him onto his back—he was still breathing, shaking—Rex could feel it.

            “Fives.”

            “Brother,” Fives gasped between tearing breaths, eyes unfocused.

            “ _Call for help!_ ” Rex cried at Fox’s team. “We need a medic!”

            Fives’ whole body heaved, struggling as he coughed and gulped at the air. “Rex….”

            Rex stared at his face, twisted in pain. “Fives,” he answered heavily, his whole body feeling weighed down and trapped as if by quicksand.

            “This…” Fives struggled to keep his eyes on Rex. “It’s… bigger than any of us… anything… I could have _imagined_ ….” Fives’ head shook wildly with the effort of his breathing. He grabbed blindly at Rex’s shoulder, his voice weak, full of grief. “I-I never meant… to…”

            Rex reached for him, feeling as if his armor were crushing his chest. He put one hand behind Fives’ head, the other under his arm, and pulled him up close so that their cheeks were nearly touching.

            “I only wanted to do my duty,” Fives breathed into his ear.

            A shudder went through Rex starting from the knot in his gut, and he fought against the burning in his eyes, the icy burning that was sweeping over him like the bomb on Thisspias. For a split second, he thought in some detached corner of his mind about how just moments ago—this same night, he had stood up to his General and resolved to do his duty, even knowing what it would cost, even despite Skywalker’s disapproval and even anger. He knew. He knew so well what Fives meant by those words.

            Fives groaned and gasped in his ear, and Rex pulled back to watch him struggling against the pain, unable to breathe. “Brother,” Rex pleaded. “Fives—” Fives’ eyes were closing. “Stay with me, Fives!” He jerked Fives up gently. “Fives?”

            “The mission…” Fives whispered, face quivering as the rest of his body was shaking in Rex’s arms—Rex wondered if he was still shaking, too. “The nightmares… they’re… finally…” Fives’ face relaxed and his shaking began to subside. “Over….”

            His head fell back and Rex thought for a moment he had just passed out. “Fives,” he called quietly, shaking him. “No… Fives….” He shook him harder, the truth sinking in. “Come on Fives, stay with me, _stay with me!_ ” He couldn’t control the way his mouth was shaking, curling, could barely speak around the pressure that was building in his throat. “Fives!” He cradled the man’s head in both hands. “ _Fives!_ Don’t _go!_ ”

            Fives was motionless, not a sign of life in his face, no pulse on his neck. He was gone.

            “No,” Rex breathed, his own voice strange and dull to his ears as he laid Fives’ body down on the metal floor. “Oh no….”

            He felt a hand on his shoulder. It took him a moment to summon the will to look up, away from Fives’ face, and the hole in his armor. General Skywalker looked down at him sadly. Rex could find nothing to say. Silence thundered in his ears. After a moment, he let his eyes fall to Fives again.

            It was over. Walking into this warehouse, Rex had told himself he was prepared to kill if by some chance it came to that, trusting that the Kaminoans would find the answer in both their bodies after death… he had half convinced himself that Fives was already gone.

            But Fives hadn’t been killed by the virus. He hadn’t been scared because of what he didn’t know. He was panicking because of something he already knew.

            Fives’ words clanged in his head. The Chancellor. How could the Chancellor be involved? Nothing about this made sense. His body, lying there, shot by one of his own brothers—everything was all wrong. Rex stared at Fives’ face and put his hands over his eyes to block it out, gripping his own head against the realization that Fives would never be able to tell him anything more.

            “A shame it had to turn out this way,” one of Fox’s men said.

            Rex pushed himself to his feet, his eyes drawn back again, against his will. He looked for the pistol Fives had grabbed, and found it back in place with its twin on the crate. Skywalker must have put it there. He slid them into their holsters, imagining Fives’ shaking hands gripping the handle.

            “We’d better take his body to the hospital,” Skywalker said solemnly, “so the doctors can do an autopsy. I don’t want to lose any more of my men to this virus.”

            “We’ll take care of that, sir,” Commander Fox said. “I’ll call for appropriate transport.”

            “Alright.” Skywalker gripped Rex’s shoulder tightly and turned him to face away from the body on the floor. “Let’s go, Rex.” His voice was soft but firm.

            “Yes, sir,” Rex said automatically.

            He was no stranger to walking away from the bodies of men he knew. But all his steps felt heavy now, his mind ground to a futile halt, spinning in place and never going anywhere. Fives had been calling to him specifically, and it was as if his presence was still there, pulling at him. Never leave a brother behind. He shook himself, lengthened his stride so he kept pace with Skywalker, the sick despair subsiding into a mild dizziness.

            He had done all he could to help Fives, he told himself. He had done his duty. There was nothing for it now but to accept the truth, whatever that truth might turn out to be.

           

           

           


	5. Chapter 5

                      Anakin reached out with the Force, unable to see Rex’s face from where he was sitting in the cockpit. He felt little ripples of nausea and anxious confusion amid the bleak aura of loss that hung around them both. It worried him. It felt too much like what he’d sensed from Fives.

                      “Everything alright up there, Rex?”

                      “Yes, sir,” Rex said.

                      As he drove toward the hospital, he thought carefully about what to do next, just waiting for Rex to ask where they were going next, or what he thought of all that had just happened. But Rex was silent, and he remained silent all the way to the hospital. Anakin clenched the controls. He couldn't handle the thought of watching Rex lose his sanity to this virus like Fives and Tup, but for the first time since this all began, he felt a stab of fear. Rex was right—they were running out of time.

                      It didn't take long for them to reach their destination. As they got out and headed inside, Anakin noted how tired the Captain looked, but when Rex caught him in mid-glance, his eyes seemed as focused as ever.

                      Nala Se was waiting for them on the other side of the doors, her white oval face mildly surprised. “Master Skywalker. Were you unable to locate the defective clone?”

                      “We did locate Fives,” Anakin said, nodding once to Shaak Ti as she entered the room from an adjacent hall. “Commander Fox and his men should be arriving with his body soon. _I’m_ here to ask that Captain Rex be kept under quarantine until a cure is found.”

                      “Sir?” Rex started slightly as Anakin gripped his shoulder tight.

                      “Don’t worry, Rex. I’m going to talk to the Jedi Council about everything right away. This way, if you are infected, you don’t have to worry about spreading it to anyone else. We should have you out of here in no time.”

                      “Weapons, please,” a droid warbled, and Anakin watched, tense, half expecting Rex to outright refuse. But the Captain set his DC-17s into the shallow tray the droid held without hesitation.

                      “Thank you, Master Skywalker,” Nala Se said. “We have already run tests on the body of the first infected clone, and are waiting for the results now. If, as I predict, the tests do come back positive for a viral infection, we may have a vaccine ready in a matter of hours.”

                      “That’s good to hear. Thank you for all your hard work.”

                      “I will personally escort this clone to a secure room, immediately,” Nala Se said, and put a hand between Rex’s shoulder blades, but Rex stepped out of her reach and back toward Anakin.

                      “General,” his voice was nearly a whisper. “You'll tell the Jedi Council _everything_ Fives said, won’t you?”

                      Rex lifted his hand and brushed it against his own temple in a subtle gesture. The chips. Anakin glanced at Shaak Ti and Nala Se, wishing he could just tell Rex the truth—that they all knew about the inhibitor chips already—without fearing that Rex would react to the news as badly as Fives had.

                      Instead he just nodded. “I’m going to tell them everything we saw and heard here tonight.”

                      Rex nodded back. “Good luck, sir.” 

                      Anakin waited until Rex and Nala Se had withdrawn, then turned to Shaak Ti and lowered his voice. “Master Shaak Ti. I need you to ask the hospital staff to keep a close eye on Captain Rex. While he might be infected, he also might not, and I don’t want him getting any ideas. He was talking earlier about eliminating himself as a source of contagion.”

                      “I shall pass on the message,” Shaak Ti promised. “And meet you at the Temple to discuss these strange and mysterious events.”

…

                      Rex felt he had barely slept at all by the time morning officially arrived. The room he was quarantined in did not have any windows; he only assumed it was morning because of how unbearably long the dark hours had dragged on in that confusing space between sleep and wakefulness… and because Shaak Ti said “Good morning, Captain,” when she showed up in the doorway and turned on the light.

                      Nala Se was with her, holding a hypospray. Rex sat up, glad to be brought out of his own thoughts.

                      “Good morning, General.” He got to his feet.

                      Once the two had entered the room, General Skywalker entered behind them.

                      “General Skywalker.” Rex glanced at the hypospray. “Have the doctors figured out what was wrong with Tup?”

                      “They have.” Skywalker looked relieved.

                      “There was an unfortunate oversight on my part,” Nala Se murmured slowly. “However, working in cooperation with the other doctors here, and comparing the data from both bodies, we were able to isolate the cause. It was a rare parasite, native to Ringo Vinda.”

                      “Then… everyone who was on that mission, and everyone they’ve been in contact with is still at risk,” Rex realized.

                      “Not for much longer.” Shaak Ti smiled. “Doctor Nala Se has prepared an inoculation which will be administered to every single trooper in the army, beginning with you.”

                      “None of us will have to worry about this ever happening again,” Skywalker said, grinning faintly.

                      “That’s… very good news, sir,” Rex said. He felt less relieved than he’d expected. Fives’ last words had worn deep tracks in his mind for the last several hours, and now to think that Fives had been completely wrong about everything….

                      He tilted his head when Nala Se wordlessly approached him, allowing her to inject the cure. He tried to tell himself that it was over now; the chance that his dreams or Skywalker’s dreams would become reality was being swept away as immunity to the parasite established itself in his body.

                      “Thank you, Doctor.” Rex rubbed the mild stinging on his neck.

                      Skywalker shared a glance with Shaak Ti, and Shaak Ti gave him a tiny smile.

                      “You are free to return to the barracks now, Rex,” she said, motioning to Nala Se. “The doctors and I must organize the effort to spread the cure to the rest of the troops.”

                      “Of course, General.” Rex bowed his head slightly in gratitude as she and Nala Se left.

                      Skywalker didn’t follow them. Instead, he folded his arms and looked at Rex with concern. “It’s been a long night. But at least now we can put this whole mess behind us and get back to ending this war.”

                      “Yes, sir,” Rex said, and when Skywalker continued to stare at him he went on. “I apologize for my actions earlier. What I said to you on the platform was out of line.”

                      “There was a lot at stake,” Skywalker said dismissively. “I’m just glad everyone’s safe from this parasite now.”

                      Rex said nothing to that.

                      “You’re not still worried about what you saw in your dreams, are you?” Skywalker asked. “If we were both having visions of the same future… I have a feeling we just averted it by finding a cure. There’s not going to be any more clones turning against each other or against the Jedi… not unless they choose to on their own… and _you’re_ not going to do that, right?”

                      “Of course not. It’s… not just that, sir,” Rex said. “I keep thinking… about what Fives said… about there being chips in all of us, every clone, that someone could use to control us. If we were all implanted with chips capable of controlling our behavior, that would be a terrible weakness for the enemy to exploit. The consequences for overlooking something like that are barely imaginable.”

                      Skywalker looked uncomfortable and Rex wondered for a moment if he’d made a mistake in bringing up his concerns. But the General sighed. “Rex… the truth is, every clone does _have_ a chip, but it’s not for the reason Fives thought. They’re inhibitor chips, designed to _prevent_ hostile behavior toward allies, and Tup’s was broken. Fives’ too… the parasite managed to break it down somehow.”

                      “Inhibitor chips?” Rex paused, considering. “General… why didn’t any of us know about this before?”

           Skywalker frowned self-consciously. “Look, I would have told you, but with everything happening so quickly, there didn't seem to be a good time.”

                      “Sir.” Rex chose his words carefully. “If Fives had this parasite the whole time, isn’t it possible his chip was degrading gradually, until it reached a certain point where the damage made him act the way he did? Mine could be going the same way. Even though we’ve gotten rid of the parasite, there could still be some damage to the chip.”

                      Skywalker shook his head. “I already asked Nala Se about that. Because of the clean tests they got from Fives before he left Kamino, she’s pretty confident that the parasite works quickly once it develops to a certain stage. It destroyed Fives’ chip in a matter of minutes. She assured me that if you haven’t shown any signs of hostility yet, we don’t have anything to worry about.”

                      “Yes, sir,” he said, because no other response was neutral enough. Something still felt off, but Rex couldn’t be certain it wasn’t his own exhaustion talking.

                      “Maybe now that the crisis is over,” Skywalker was saying, as they left the room, “you should go get a few hours of real sleep in the barracks. Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

                      “I appreciate that, sir,” Rex said, but made no immediate move to follow the General. “Did... you talk to the Council about what happened? What Fives said?” He knew he was out of line to ask, but he wanted to make sure they had the complete report of the incident.

                      “I did,” Skywalker said. He glanced at Rex.  “...And then I was dismissed. They didn't discuss it in front of me.”

                      Rex took a deep breath. “And my dreams?”

                      The General looked away. “I didn't mention them. Like I said, now that the parasite is gone, so is the threat. You were having them because you were infected. That's what you said, isn't it?”

                      “Yes, sir,” Rex said again, feeling less relieved now that this could be put behind them than he expected. Skywalker turned back toward the exit, and as soon as Rex fell into step behind him, he knew he would find it difficult to rest even in the barracks. It was true the nightmares had been more vivid since Ringo Vinda, but he had been having them in some form or another long before that mission.

                      He shook himself mentally as they stepped out of the hospital into the morning sun. He really wasn’t going to get any sleep if he kept dwelling on this. Once they’d settled into the speeder, he turned to Skywalker.

                      “When’s our next mission, General?”

                      “Actually, we’re going to the edge of the Outer Rim, so if any of the major assault teams need reinforcements, we’ll be close. We leave in a few days.”

                      “I’ll have my men ready. It’ll be good to get back in the fight.”

…

                      Anakin turned away from the starpocked depths of space and back toward the too-quiet bridge of the Venator-class Destroyer. The battle currently underway on Ryloth played in his mind as Rex came through the door, helmet tucked under one arm.

                      Without preamble, Anakin pulled up the holographic link to General Aayla Secura’s ship.

                      “We’re all here now, Master Secura,” Anakin said. “Please proceed with the briefing.”

                      “The situation on Ryloth is getting out of hand,” Secura’s hologram said. “We have managed to drive the Separatists out of three major cities, but there are many wounded: both our own troops and civilians. No supply ships have managed to get through the battle above—all our ships are busy preventing the Separatists from making any attacks on the surface, and cannot provide additional cover for the medical frigates. We need a way to take the worst casualties to the only secure and well-equipped hospital under our control. I’m asking you to transport these wounded from the outlying cities to the capital.”

                      “I’ll need a detailed map of the area before we can start making a strategy.”

                      Secura nodded and tapped on an invisible console. “I’m sending it to you now. It would be safest for the casualties if you could commandeer one of the Separatist carriers, but if that is not possible, I can think of a few alternatives. There are many tunnels which run underneath the capital, and at least one which lets out at the point I have marked, just behind the battle zone.”

                      Anakin leaned back from the holographic map, turning it and taking in all the angles and points noted.

                      “This way, you would only be required to break through one line of enemy defenses, and would be clear of heavy fire from the ground for the greater part of your flight. But, the separatists might catch on to this plan, and find a way to trap you in the tunnels. There is also the risk of cave-in simply from the bombardment of the tanks, especially at _this_ point just outside the city walls.”

                      “So it could be just as dangerous as flying over their heavy artillery,” Anakin said wryly. “And the third option?”

                      “Send a decoy first. Let the Separatists deal with it while the prisoners are transported in another ship.”

                      “Or,” Anakin said confidently, “we join the fight directly, help you win, and the risk to the wounded in transport disappears. I could join the battle up here, and send carriers to drop ground troops where they can come up behind the enemy and surprise them.”

                      Secura frowned. “I don’t think you understand the severity of this engagement, General Skywalker. The only reason I believe _you_ will make it past the Separatist fleet is because of your reputation as a pilot. If you sent ground troops in separate ships, they would never reach the surface.”

                      Anakin was tempted to make a jab at Secura for doubting his pilots, but he knew better; the situation called for serious consideration.

                      “Alright, then we make a compromise.” Anakin studied the highlighted routes on the map. “I’ll land in Joreikna first, and hopefully knock out a good percentage of the cannons on this side in the process. Once we have the casualties on board, I’ll send my pilots to clear the way back to the capital with an airstrike so I can continue with this ship. I doubt the droid carriers have as much space for loading casualties as this ship does.”

                      “You would have to clear a very _wide_ path, Skywalker,” Secura said doubtfully. “Your ship makes a large and tempting target, which is why I suggested using smaller ships once you land.”

                      “Well, I guess we’ll just have to use our own troop carriers.”

                      Secura did not seem impressed by his confidence. “Remember, once you are on the ground, your communications will be monitored until we can take out the array at their base. Be careful. Contact me again once you’ve landed. If your ship is still in one piece, maybe your plan will work, but I think you would do well to consider my suggestions.”

                      “If commandeering a droid carrier or two is necessary, we’ll get it done, even if we have to charge the front lines. Rex and I have dealt with missions like this plenty of times, right Captain?”

                      Rex’s eyes jerked up from the map. “Y… yes sir.”

                      “Your Captain doesn’t seem as confident as you are.”

                      Anakin gave Rex a significant look. “Of course he is, Master Secura. I bet he already has a strategy or two of his own in mind. Tell her, Rex.”

                      Rex straightened; his eyes went over the map a bit too quickly. “We have a few options,” he said haltingly, his brow furrowed. “But… it might be easier to tell which is the most effective once we’re on the ground.”

                      Anakin stared at Rex; that answer felt off. The Captain didn’t seem to realize he was redundantly stating the same thing Secura had suggested.

                      “Just get past those ships,” said Secura. “I must return to the fight. May the Force be with you.”

                       The hologram blinked out. Anakin looked over the table at Rex, who stared back at him with an almost guilty expression.

                      “Are you ready for this mission, Rex?” Anakin asked seriously.

                      “Of course, General,” Rex said. “I have confidence that you will choose the best method for delivering the casualties.”

                      “You just seem a little… distracted.” Anakin came around the table toward him. “You’re not sick or something, are you?”

                      “My health is fine, sir,” Rex said. “I apologize for not giving the briefing my full attention. It won’t happen again.”

                      “It better not,” Anakin said sternly. “This can’t become a trend. I know things in the 501st haven't been easy lately, but we're in the middle of a war, and I need to be able to count on you and your men. If there’s something on your mind, or if there’s a reason you’re not focusing, maybe you better tell me now. Otherwise, I expect you to forget it and get your head back in the mission.”

                      “Understood!” Rex kept steady eye contact. “It’s nothing, sir. A personal matter.”

                      Anakin let his voice and face soften a bit. “It’s Fives, isn’t it?”

                      Rex gave a short, almost frustrated sigh. “No, sir.”

                      Anakin raised an eyebrow skeptically. “If you say so. Did you hear everything Master Secura said?”

                      “Our mission is to break through to the surface, and transport casualties from the two outlying cities to the capital.”

                      “And how did each of us propose to do that?”

                      “General Secura… mentioned enemy carriers, and tunnels.” Rex’s face was rigid. “But you proposed to use this ship.”

                      “And that’s all you remember?”

                      Rex averted his eyes. “That’s... about the extent of it, sir. I have no excuse, but as I promised, it _won’t_ happen again.”

                      Anakin folded his arms, mentally debating whether to push the issue or trust Rex’s word. He’d always been able to trust it before, but then… Rex had never made this kind of mistake before in the first place.

                      “Alright. Let’s get back to the mission, then. I’ll fill you in during our approach.”

                      “Thank you, sir.”

…

                      After a wild ride through the thick firefight just outside Ryloth’s atmosphere, Rex and his men stood inside the city at last. It was tucked between two small cliffs, and troops from the 327th had created a barricade on its open side, using felled droid carriers, tanks, and even the pieces of destroyed buildings on the city’s edge.

                      It got quieter the further toward the center they walked. The Twi’lek citizens kept indoors mostly, sometimes peering out from behind scorched curtains or cracked shutters. Here and there, faceless suits of armor lay dead on the edges of the streets. Rex kept his eyes on Skywalker’s back, determined not to let his focus slip again.

                      “There it is.” Skywalker pointed at a long, low rectangular structure of the same sandy color as all the rest. One corner of the roof and a wall had caved in and was covered with a tarp that snapped in the wind.

                      Inside, it was dim and much cooler than out, but the particular smell of wounded bodies in close quarters was still strong. Most of the troopers had been relieved of their armor.

                      “Kix.” Rex gestured toward the yellow-painted medic moving among the casualties.

                      Kix nodded and hurried over to offer his help to the other medic, while General Skywalker led Rex toward a Twi’lek who was winding bandages around a civilian’s lekku. Rex picked his way carefully, and as a gust of warm air came from the open doorway, it kicked up a whorl of sand and ruffled the edge of the rough brown blanket covering one patient by his feet.

                      Something about the movement of that corner of cloth, the way the bodies lay thick on the ground beneath him in the dimness—Rex took a deep breath and tried not to think about the nightmares. They had not quit after the parasite had been neutralized; in fact, they had not let up at all.

                      His hands rested against the handles of his DC-17s and he again remembered Fives mentioning nightmares on his dying breath. He had assumed Fives had been having them as a result of the parasite, just as Rex thought his had been strengthened... but his dreams' current persistence despite being cured made him wonder. What if Fives had been having nightmares for years, just as he had been?

                      “Are you the doctor in charge here?” Skywalker’s voice jarred Rex free of his thoughts, and he saw the General kneel beside the Twi’lek who tended the others.

                      “Yes,” she said, only glancing up once from her work—her patient was grunting in pain as she tightened the bandages. “And you are here to take my patients to the capitol. We were told you were coming. I moved the most severely injured patients onto stretchers near the door. _Please_ make sure your men are careful while moving them. Bit and I have done what we can, but their condition is barely stable.”

                      Skywalker nodded gravely and turned around, voice raised. “You heard the doctor! The patients by the door are our first priority. At least two men to a stretcher; I want to give these people as smooth a ride as possible, starting with the trip to the carriers.”

                      “Yes, sir!” the men called out.

                      As Rex moved back to the door and crouched by one of many unconscious clones, Jesse crouched on the other end of the stretcher.

                      “Count of three,” Rex said. “Nice and easy. One… two….”

                      They lifted smoothly together. Rex backed out into the street and waited for Jesse to swing gradually around so they could go sideways. The General came out after half a dozen more pairs and kept a close watch on their surroundings as they shuffled slowly back toward the ship.

                      As Rex kept his eyes down, watching for imperfections in the road, his mind wandered again. Fox should have stunned Fives. Killing him meant never learning what more he meant to say… and some terrible, traitorous part of Rex’s mind wondered if that was the point. Fives had known something, and been silenced accordingly.

                      “Think we’ll all make it past those cannons?” Jesse asked.

                      Rex looked up, but of course no expression was visible on Jesse’s helmet. “With the General drawing their fire in the Destroyer? Yeah. Besides, General Secura and Commander Bly will be using this opportunity to disable the ones outside the airstrike zone.”

                      Jesse laughed under his breath. “Just another great last-minute plan by General Skywalker.”

                      “Sorry boys,” Skywalker laughed, walking easily beside them. “I get all the fun parts in this plan. Looks like you’re just here for the heavy lifting.”

                      “That’s fine with me, General,” Jesse said, looking down at the heavily bruised trooper they were carrying. “Looks like these guys had it pretty rough out there.”

                      “We might still join the fight once the wounded are safe,” Skywalker smirked. “I have a feeling this battle will have to tip one way or the other before we’re done.”

                      They went carefully up the ramp into the Destroyer’s hangar, their footsteps echoing on the metal floor. For a moment, the relative dimness of the interior and the blazing light of Skywalker’s saber brought Rex back to the warehouse. Fives' last words again played in his mind. _The mission. The nightmares._ And what he’d said to Tup during their retreat at Ringo Vinda. _What mission?_

                      The stretcher jerked in his hands and the clone lying on it grunted.

                      “Uh, Captain?” said Jesse quietly. “The carrier’s over there.”

                      Rex glanced over at Skywalker, hoping he hadn’t noticed, but the General was looking right at him.

                      “Did you see something?” asked Jesse, turning his head to sweep the hangar’s interior.

                      “Just shadows,” said Rex, and stepped toward the nearest carrier. “Come on.”

                      He was glad no one could look him in the eye. And more than any other time he could remember, he hoped they wouldn’t be doing much fighting today. Slip-ups like this were a death sentence on the battlefield, not only to him, but to his men as well. And judging by how they’d only made a dent in the casualties this first run, none of them could afford to let their attention slide for even a second.

…

                      Night was falling on Ryloth as Rex stepped out of the hospital in Lessu. He found General Skywalker a stone’s throw from where General Secura was speaking with Commander Bly.

                      “Looks like that’s the last of them, sir,” Rex said. “We did lose one or two in transit this time, but their injuries were pretty severe.”

                      “We’ve done good work today, Rex,” Skywalker said, not lacking an ounce of his usual energy. “Ready for phase two?”

                      “What’s the plan, General?”

                      “We’re going to split up our men into nine teams. Pick out eight other team leaders and meet me back on the bridge as soon as everyone’s ready.”

                      “Right away, sir!”

                      It didn’t take long for Rex to choose. Soon, all eight of them stood with him, facing General Skywalker across the hologram projector on the bridge of the Destroyer.

                      “Jesse will lead team two,” Rex said, indicating each clone as he named them. “The seven other teams will be led by Singer, Index, Rabbit, Dash Dot, Appo, Bow, and Brick.”

                      Skywalker looked over them all, noting the little variations that set them apart as Rex pointed. Singer, wearing his usual contemplative expression, had never abandoned the basic style each clone cadet started with, but he did have his name tattooed in small letters beneath his left eye.  Index was easy to spot by his alert posture and thin lines shaved into his hair, while Rabbit was bald with a swirl pattern tattooed on his head. Dash Dot’s helmet had a series of dashes and dots around the back. Appo, Brick, and Bow were also wearing their helmets, Appo with his characteristic white arrow, and Brick with the solid rectangle of blue on one side of his helmet which paralleled the block of text tattooed underneath.

                      “Alright. Captain Rex believes you’re the best men available to lead these teams. So here’s the plan.” Skywalker pulled up a section of the map General Secura had given them. “This base is General Secura’s next target. It has extensive defensive missile systems, designed to shoot down any ship that tries to get too close. It’s also shielded. If ground troops can get close enough, the shield isn’t a problem, but we know there are tanks and plenty of battle droids stationed around the perimeter to prevent that. We’re going to draw out the ground forces so General Secura’s troops can take over the base.”

                      Skywalker pulled the view out a bit. The base sat inside a wider section of a gorge which split into narrow, criss-crossing ravines before finally ending in a wash of dunes.

                      “I’m going to fly the Destroyer over the base, let them think they’ve damaged it so that I’m forced to land just outside the range of their missiles. But the Destroyer has a wider firing range than they do. The ship will continue attacking the base from that position, trying to wear down their shields, while the rest of you take your positions in the gorge. Timing is everything, here. Each team will attack in a stage to push the enemy forces where we want them, or draw them out in pursuit. We have to funnel them down _this_ ravine.”

                      “General, sir,” Index said, “if we herd them into that place, they might hold some troops in reserve, come up behind. Then we'll be caught in our own trap.”

                      Skywalker smirked. “What did I just say, Index? Timing. We’re going to hold off on fully engaging the enemy until we’ve split off a good number of their battle droids. The tanks don’t have much of a choice of where to go; they can’t cut us off because the back entrance to this passage is too narrow.” He traced the ravine he’d marked before with one finger. “Our attacks will be coordinated so that we thin their numbers, and don’t reveal our own until we have them where we want. I’ve already worked out exactly how this should go, alright? As long as each team is at their assigned spot at the right time, and everyone attacks in the right sequence, we’ll have ourselves a quick and easy path to victory.”

                      “I don’t doubt it, sir,” Appo said. “But with comm. channels being monitored, it will be impossible to collaborate further once we're out on the field.”

                      “I was just about to say the same thing,” Skywalker said. “You’ll all have to remember every other team’s position so that you can attack at the right time. So here are your individual assignments. Singer, you’ll be stationed closest to the base on the north side of the gorge. You’ll be the first to attack. Hide most of your men in these pockets, and take a few to the entrance of this section to fire on the droids and lure them in. Try to pull as much of their attention as you can.”

                      Singer nodded once, slowly, with a smile and half-shut eyes. “We’ll give them a worthy fight, sir. On our honor.”

                      “Dash Dot, you’ll be waiting deeper in the ravine, to the east of Singer’s position. You have to guard the parallel passage and keep any of the droids lured by Singer from getting away. Be prepared for a fight on both sides, but don’t attack until you’re approached, or until Singer’s troops need a diversion.”

                      “Understood.”

                      “Rabbit, you’ll be just ahead of Singer on the south side, right at this junction here. The terrain is pretty rough there, but I hear that’s no problem for you.”

                      “No problem at all, sir,” Rabbit drawled.

                      “Heh,” said Brick. “We don’t call him Rabbit for nothing, General.”

                      “Just as long as you keep an eye out for your men too,” Skywalker said. “You’ll attack next. The enemy could easily loop around behind you against the cliff, so I’ll have Jesse stationed here at the southernmost passage to prevent that and to help pen the droids in once you’ve led them there.”

                      “It’ll take a while for those clankers to get over the rocks,” Rabbit observed. “But eh… we’ll keep ‘em interested.”

                      Skywalker nodded. “Rex, you’ll be here, just northeast of Rabbit and Jesse’s ambush, and across the central passage of the gorge from Index.” Skywalker pointed at another opening into the interconnecting passages where Jesse and Rabbit would be luring droids. Rex’s position was behind one of many large rock formations scattered throughout the gorge. The rock angled toward Index’s position, making a bottleneck in the central passage. “This is the choke point—we don’t want to let the main part of their forces through if we can help it. Index’s passage is the only other one wide enough for tanks. From your position, you’ll push their forces to pursue Index and his men into the trap we’ve set here.”

                      “Yes sir.”

                      “Do _not_ let them past that point if you can help it.” The General said. “Index will be occupied drawing them back, so I’m counting on you to keep them from advancing in the wrong direction. Appo and Bow will be stationed here—” Skywalker pointed at two parallel points even further east on the main passage, “and they’ll be the last line of defense against any tanks that make it through, but they need to be able to join the fight in the northern passage when the time comes for all our forces to converge on that point. Brick, you’re here.” Skywalker indicated a narrow exit to the northeast of Index’s position. “You just keep any droids from getting out that way.”

                      “They won’t get past us, sir. You can count on that.” Brick smirked, patting the rifle resting against his shoulder.

                      “Any questions so far?”

                      Rex took a steady breath and stared at the map, memorizing the attack positions, while Index asked about back up plans and Appo got clarification on which route to take to join the final stage of the battle. The plan seemed simple enough. Push the enemy in one direction, and don’t let them break through to the ship.

                      “Alright,” Skywalker said at last. “Get some rest. We move out in six hours.”

…

                      It was quiet in the gorge, and hot even in the shade. The long, stealthy walk to their various positions was followed by hours of waiting as the sun rose higher. All this time gave Rex’s mind too much freedom to wander as he sat against the rock wall. It was a relief when the first sounds of battle drifted to them on the dry desert wind.

                      A trooper with three hollow dots on both sides of his helmet came loping quietly into the shade where they waited. Rex stood up.

                      “How close are they, AT?”

                      Afterthought—whose full nickname was too cumbersome at three syllables—came to attention. “Sir. Rabbit and his men are falling back into the gulch. I count at least two hundred droids in pursuit. The front lines are continuing to advance and should cross into visual range in the next ten or fifteen minutes.”

                      “Good.” Rex turned and motioned to those he could see to get to their feet. “Alert the rest of the team. It’s about to get a lot hotter down here.”

                      “Yes, sir!”

                      AT jogged ahead while Rex followed behind to pick up any stragglers who might have missed the command from where they were holed up in crannies in the wall. Staying out of sight made good sense the closer they were to Jesse’s position—their orders were clear, to stay out of Jesse and Rabbits’ fight unless things went desperately wrong.

                      Soon they were all huddled densely under the eastern tip of the long, thin rock wall that shielded them from the main part of the gorge.

                      Rex peered carefully around the edge. The sun glinted blindingly off the first lines of marching battle droids. Above the clankers, the barrel of a tank’s gun swiveled slightly.

                      “Here they come,” he said quietly to the men closest, holding up a hand. “Now we wait until Index fires. Twist, Steel, got those charges ready?”

                      A trooper lifted both hands to show the grenades he held. “Ready, Captain.”

                      “Can’t wait to take out some tactical droids,” Steel added, waving one of his own charges. “Those things give me the creeps.”

                      “Steady,” said Rex.

                      The droid army came close enough that above the distant blaster fire and the rumble of the cannons, Rex could hear the telltale clank echoing against the walls of the gorge. But Index didn’t fire. Rex peeked around the corner again, just enough to catch sight of the butte the other team’s attack should have come from.

                      “Why aren’t they firing?” Afterthought hissed.

                      Rex had no answer. “Come on, Index,” he breathed.

                      The front line of droids inched closer.

                      It passed the opening in the opposite cliff face.

                      “Something must have gone wrong,” Rex said, thinking fast. “But the General gave us orders not to let the enemy past this point. Get ready to charge the front lines!”

                      Afterthought ran to pass the message to those in the back, and everyone rushed forward so they were within sight of Rex.

                      Rex stepped up on a rock and raised an arm. “Ready, men?”

                      Helmets lifted toward him

                      “LET’S GO! GO, GO, GO!”

                      As one they rushed out into the open gorge, charged headlong into the mass of droids, and knocked half their targets down by bodily impact alone. Someone went down to Rex’s left and he hoped it wasn’t Twist—the nearest tank was too close to hit them but the one behind it was turning their way.

                      In between knocking rifles from droid hands, blasting droid heads and stomping droid chests, Rex saw Steel climbing the tank. He took a quick shot at the tactical droid to distract it—a metal arm swung at him and he ducked.

                      The second tank fired and the blast knocked Rex off his feet. As he scrambled up and backward, he saw Index’s men pouring from the opposite side of the gorge, yelling at the top of their lungs. The tank was getting ready to fire again, aiming straight for the thickest part of Rex’s team. The droids were crammed together, blaster fire coming so thick Rex had to crawl behind a rock.

                     “Get out of range!” He yelled, and the men nearest took up the cry, echoing it through the chaos of the battle.

                      Another rumbling blast and Rex feared the worst, but then he saw his men moving for cover further east. He jumped up and ran sideways to join them, all his attention bent on mowing down as many clankers as he could hit.

                       Nearly a dozen went down before Rex dived and rolled behind a spur of rock on the north. He turned around and reassessed the battlefield. Steel had disabled the nearest tank, but the second one was coming in steadily.

                      “Keep those droid poppers coming!” he commanded. The troopers he’d fallen in with lobbed their grenades into the advancing horde of droids, and Rex led another charge back out into the open. “CLOSE RANKS! DRIVE THEM BACK!”

                      This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. The tanks would have been easy pickings if the droids were diverted by fighting Index’s team. Now everything was a mess, and as hard as Rex and his men tried to press forward, the clankers just kept marching on.

                      They fell back again, heading for the nearest opening in the north side of the gorge. The second tank had stopped now but a third was closing in. A blur of blue light flew down from the top of the gorge and General Skywalker was on the tank, slicing its weapons, cutting its treads.

                      “FORWARD!” Skywalker’s voice boomed out, and Rex and his men surged out to obey.

                      As Skywalker jumped through the battlefield, picking off tactical droids and disabling the heavy weaponry, Rex and his men advanced with new confidence. The enemy forces were splitting off to the north, following Index as they were meant to. Rex stepped over Steel’s body as he and his men moved past the second disabled tank.

                      Suddenly, Skywalker was in front of Rex, deflecting blaster fire and yelling above the noise.

                      “What happened?! Why did you attack early?”

                      “Index must not have been in position, sir!” Rex called back, shooting nonstop from his spot just behind the General. “I couldn’t let the enemy pass!”

                      “No, _you_ weren’t in position! You were too far west! Take a look around, Rex! You were supposed to be stationed at the narrowest part of this section!”

                      Rex shifted so his back was to Skywalker’s, and looked to the east. The rock formation they’d been stationed behind had seemed right, but now, looking straight down the gorge, he saw how the passage narrowed further in, a second, larger wall running parallel to and behind the nearer one, diagonally jutting into the path.

                      “Sir, I…” Rex stared down the gorge, his breath catching as an icy feeling crept into his stomach. “I should have sent a scout to double check our position.”

                      “That’s right!” Skywalker yelled. “You should have! We’ll talk later. For now, just focus on the fight!”

                      “Yes sir!” Rex pivoted with a numb sense of determination, and turned his full attention back to the battle.           

…

                      Three days later, Rex sat on his bunk in the Destroyer, wondering whether avoiding sleep might actually help his concentration. He wished he were back on Coruscant already, clearing his mind at the shooting range. They would be back soon enough, but at the moment they were currently docked at a space station, giving the ship a refuel and some much-needed repair after the ordeal Skywalker had put it through. After they destroyed the army in the gorge, General Secura had managed to drive the rest of the Separatist forces off with the help of General Mundi and the Galactic Marines. It had been a swift victory once the ships above had been destroyed, cutting the droid army off from receiving any fresh troops.

                      Rex looked over to where Kix was sleeping. He could probably give him something to help him sleep more deeply. Maybe that would help.

                      The door opened and Rex jumped to his feet a moment later to stand at silent attention.

                      General Skywalker was holding a trooper’s helmet and motioned for Rex to follow him outside. Rex looked at it, confused—the casualty report for this mission had already been filed. For half a moment his mind jumped to the worst possibility, but the helmet had blue markings, not gold. It belonged to someone in the 501st.

                      He followed Skywalker into the hall, and in the brighter light he saw the familiar symbol, meant to resemble a Rishi eel.

                      “Where did you get that, sir,” he asked quietly.

                      “I asked a friend to bring it to me from Kamino.” Skywalker said, his voice also low. “I figured it was worth a shot. I thought they would have recycled it already, but… guess it hasn’t really been that long.”

                      Rex wondered what use the General could possibly have for a dead soldier’s helmet. But then Skywalker held the helmet out toward him.

                      “Anyway,” he said. “I thought you might want to have it.”

                      Rex reached for it automatically, and caught himself. He shook his head and kept his fists at his sides. “Why would I want this, sir? What would I do with it?”

                      Skywalker leaned toward him, nearly whispering. “I _know_ Fives wasn’t just any soldier to you. He was your friend. A good friend. It’s natural to want something to remember him by.”

                      Rex blew out a breath and looked away. “Sir, I….”

                      “Take it, Rex.” Skywalker commanded, shoving the helmet at him. “I know that despite everything people say, some clones form attachments just like some Jedi do. It’s only human. And sometimes the only way to move on is to acknowledge your feelings. Once you’ve acknowledged them, sometimes… they’re easier to control.”

                      Rex took the helmet reluctantly, staring into Fives’ second face. The same heavy feeling from the warehouse fell on him, that exhaustion he had first felt on Umbara.

                      “That may be true, sir,” he said wearily. “And… I appreciate what you’ve done. But the fact remains that I can’t keep personal items from friends I’ve lost on the battlefield. There would be too many.” Rex closed his eyes briefly. “No… it’s better just to move on, and accept the fact that we all die, eventually. It’s what we’re made to do. Fives was no different. And neither am I. It would be wrong to act otherwise.”

                      The General gave a frustrated huff. “Well, _I’m_ not ready to have you get killed just yet. You’re not made to die. You’re _made_ to fight. But Rex, you're becoming a liability on the battlefield. I’m ordering you to take some time off when we get back to Coruscant. Take some time to sort out your feelings.”

                      “What? General!” Rex protested. “I realize I haven’t been performing to the usual standard, but—!”

                      Skywalker held up a hand to cut him off. “This isn’t up for discussion. You obviously need time to recover from what happened with Fives.”

                      “Nothing happened to _me._ ” Rex argued. “I’m not sick, General. I’m not injured.”

                      “Maybe,” Skywalker said doubtfully. “But you’re not going to be any good as Captain until you figure this out. So you’re taking some time off. Just a few days, alright?”

                      Rex gripped the helmet, angry and ashamed of himself. “Yes, sir.” He held it back out toward the General. “This should be recycled. There’s another trooper out there who needs it more than I do.”

                      Skywalker frowned uncomfortably and folded his arms. “That’s yours now,” he muttered. “You can do what you want with it.”

                      With that, he turned and walked away. Rex watched him go before sighing deeply and returning to his bunk. Surrounded by the quiet breathing of his comrades, he sat and stared at Fives’ helmet, Fives’ shaky voice repeating in his mind. _I only wanted to do my duty._

                      Dwelling on questions of conspiracy and betrayal had gotten Fives killed. It could very well do the same to him. But he had a duty, didn’t he, to find out the truth, and follow it out to its conclusion. Rex didn’t see signs of his own exhaustion and nightmares in any of the other men, but then, he wasn’t at his most observant lately. They all tossed and turned or woke suddenly at times; they all had bad dreams, but they were combat dreams, hardly worth commenting on.

                      That was exactly what he’d always called his nightmares. Combat dreams. Maybe he wasn’t the only one using such euphemism. _The nightmares, the mission… kill Jedi_. He didn't want it to be true. He didn't _want_ Fives to be right. As much as it felt wrong to prefer believing Fives had simply been going crazy, the alternative was so much worse.

                      Rest wasn’t going to do Rex any good. Somehow, he knew, only the truth would stop the nightmares and let his memory of Fives rest in peace.

…


	6. Chapter 6

            Kix and Jesse came into Seventy-Nines much later than Rex expected. He sat up a little straighter to watch them from his table in the corner.

            Jesse went up to the counter first, making friendly gestures to the bartender; Rex couldn’t hear what he was saying over the music. Kix leaned on the counter with a faraway expression. They shifted to one of their favorite spots near the end; the bartender brought their drinks in tall white mugs followed by two small shot glasses. Jesse downed both shots in quick succession, then cupped his hand around the tall mug. Kix half-closed his eyes as if he already had a hangover. Jesse put a hand on Kix’s shoulder and the medic shrugged it off.

            Rex watched them until they emptied their mugs, Kix more slowly than Jesse but no less persistent. Rex stood and slipped around the edge of a very loud and enthusiastic game of sabacc. He came up behind Jesse and Kix and announced his presence half a moment before putting one arm around each man’s shoulders.

            “Kix. Jesse. Just the men I wanted to see. You two have some explaining to do.”

            “Captain?” Kix only managed not to spill his ale because it was mostly gone. He gave a short, nervous laugh. “About what?”

            “Sorry we didn’t invite you to come to the bar with us, sir,” Jesse said, grinning a little as the bartender handed him another drink. “We didn’t think to stop at the barracks first.”

            “Get this man another ale,” Rex said to the bartender, indicating Kix. “Netra’gal for me.” He turned back toward the other two and put on a more serious face. It wasn’t hard. “The _General_ wants me to look into exactly what was going on with you two the night Fives was killed.”

            Kix and Jesse dropped their smiles and exchanged a quick, nervous glance.

            “Well, sir… you see,” Jesse began awkwardly. “ _We_ were already drunk when—”

            “No, no, come on,” Kix said softly, patting Jesse on the shoulder to stop him. “It’s alright, Jesse… we may as well confess. They both already know I let Fives go.”

            Jesse grimaced sheepishly. “Right.”

            “Confess what?” Rex demanded. “Where exactly _were_ you when you last saw Fives?”

            “Right here, actually,” Kix sighed. “Well, the 'fresher. He came in there after me.”

            “So you both came here to look for him, and decided that could wait while you had a few drinks?” Rex gave them a pointed look.

            “We…” Kix grimaced. “Uh… we sort of… planned to get drunk, sir.”

            “Already drunk when the call came in,” Jesse said in an undertone, brow furrowed guiltily. “That was going to be our excuse.”

            “Funny, how that worked out,” Kix said faintly. “If we hadn’t been here, maybe he wouldn’t have found a way to contact you and the General. And then the doctors might not have figured out the cure for that parasite.”

            “I see.” Rex paused, studying their guilty faces. Jesse seemed particularly uncomfortable, while Kix stared back at him steadily, then picked up his drink

            “Why don’t you just tell us what our punishment’s gonna be, Rex?” Kix asked after he’d drained the last of it. “We made our choice, and now we’ll suffer the consequences.”

            “You mind explaining what possessed you to disobey orders like this?” Rex leaned closer to them, speaking low. “Kix, you saw what happened to Tup. You saw what he did, and you must have known that failing to capture Fives could mean more unnecessary deaths. Even Jedi.”

            “Yes sir. Of _course_ I knew that,” Kix nearly whispered. “But I’m the chief medic, and all I can say is… Fives may not have been acting exactly like himself when he met me here, but he _seemed_ lucid. He had a plan! That’s not like what we saw with Tup. I….” Kix sighed and looked at the bar counter. “I really thought he might know something we didn’t. Until we heard about that parasite, anyway.”

            Rex accepted his drink from the bartender and took a few sips to excuse himself from replying for a minute. Jesse was watching him uneasily, so Rex turned to him next.

            “And you, Jesse?” Rex growled softly. “What was your motive for planning to _lie_ about where you were?”

            Jesse hid behind his mug for a second, took a gulp, then a deep breath and straightened a bit. “I am sorry, Captain. I guess… I just didn’t want to see a good soldier like Fives in a condition like that. I couldn’t stand the thought of hunting him down. Maybe… maybe that makes me a coward.” Jesse hunched his shoulders a little.

              Rex didn’t say anything immediately, hoping Jesse would say more. For a moment he was reminded of the awful truth that if one of them had stunned Fives first, maybe Fox wouldn’t have killed him.

            “Somebody had to be the one to capture him.” Rex prompted with a sigh. “I don’t think any of us wanted to do it, but we had our _orders_. You know that.”

             “Yeah. I know,” Jesse said quietly with an edge in his voice. “I’ve had my share of difficult orders. I was there on Umbara. I was there standing right next to Fives waiting for my own brothers to shoot me because Krell gave an _order!_ I know _all about_ how important it is to follow orders no matter what.”

            Rex hadn’t heard Jesse use such a tone since the actual events of Umbara. It didn’t soothe his anxious conscience to be reminded of where he’d stood during that firing squad.

            “That was different, Jesse.” Kix frowned at his friend. “Krell was a traitor. We were ordered to find Fives because he tried to kill the Chancellor.”

            “I-I know! I know,” Jesse fumbled, shifting to hold his drink with both hands. “I just….” He blew out a slow breath. “Fighting against my own brothers… I never thought I’d have to face that again. I _know_ he tried to kill the Chancellor, but… it wasn’t his fault!” Jesse slammed a fist on the counter suddenly, teeth clenched. “He shouldn’t have died like that! He deserved better!”

            Kix put a hand on Jesse’s fist sadly, and Jesse unclenched it to put his head in his hands.

            “He was a good soldier,” Jesse groaned. “He shouldn’t have died like that. If I _ever_ find out who did this to him, I swear I’ll—”

            “Jesse,” Rex said warningly. “ _No_ one did this to Fives. It was a parasite, remember?”

            “ _Who_ gave the order to kill him?” Jesse continued obliviously. “I mean… why? Isn’t _he_ at least worth more than that? He was one of the best! And they could have saved him! They knew he was sick, they knew it wasn’t his fault! But they just don’t care, do they? It’s just easier to—”

            “Jesse!” Kix hissed, glancing around to make sure his outburst had gone mostly unheard. “What are you saying? They shot him for the same reason Captain Rex ordered us to shoot _him._ Tup killed a Jedi! For all any of us knew, Fives was about to spread the same insanity to the rest of the army and even more Jedi could have been killed!”

            “No, wait, I’m not saying ‘snot important to protect the Jedi,” Jesse said, his words slightly slurred despite his alarmed expression. “But…I’m just saying, if it was a Jedi who was sick… would they have killed him just like that? Would they?” Jesse’s anger had faded back into grief now. “I know we’re just soldiers… that’s all we are… our lives can’t be… they’re… we’re not the same as a Jedi… but Fives… Fives should’ve… they should’ve….”

            “We’re all loyal to the Republic,” Rex said reassuringly. “I know neither of you would ever dream of betraying it willingly. Just like Fives. It’s alright, Jesse.”

            “Yeah,” Jesse said, staring at Rex with a conflicted look. “I mean, sure… I get upset sometimes. I… I wish sometimes that we weren’t so… so….” Jesse gestured uselessly.

            “Expendable?” Kix sighed, and reached for his drink.

            “Yeah. Expendable.” Jesse blinked hard at his own fist, frowning. “Sometimes I think about all of us who don’t even make it past the first battle. All that training and it’s all gone, and then there’s more shinies to replace ‘em. And then you live through so many battles just to die from a bug you can’t even see! Or you sacrifice yourself so your brothers can live to fight another day, and they’re nearly executed an hour later! What happened after all that trouble with Krell? We got sent right off to another battle! After all that. We weren’t even allowed to go back to look for survivors!”

            “There wouldn’t have been any by then,” Kix said, looking defeated. “Anyway… sometimes I think the ones who died early on were lucky… they didn’t get forced into killing their own.”

            “I’m sick of all this,” Jesse muttered, kneading his forehead with his knuckles. “I’m sick of all the death.”

            Rex just stood there, feeling strongly the taboo of how they were speaking now. But these experiences had changed them all irreversibly. And, he realized… it wasn’t just the horror of Umbara, or the events on Ringo Vinda. It was the accumulation of all of it, the fear that all their blood and sacrifice might turn out to be meaningless.

            “I’m… sick of it too,” he said heavily. “Can’t get a break from it, even in my sleep.”

            Kix’s eyes were fixed on him and Rex couldn’t tell if it was Kix’s duty as a medic kicking in or something more.

            “I know!” Jesse blurted. “The dreams, they’ve been getting worse all the time!”

            Rex felt a sick rush of adrenaline. “The nightmares?” he prompted.

            “Yeah,” Jesse grunted, rubbing his eyes. “Ugh. Y’know, I was kinda worried about it, but I asked Kix and he said it’s normal, he has ‘em too….”

            Kix opened his mouth as if to argue, but then just sighed and scratched his neck. “Well, I… I assumed. I’ve actually only had one or two other troopers report having these… particular dreams.”

            “And what dream is that?” Rex asked.

            Kix looked around as if searching for an escape route, and Rex wondered if this was how he’d looked when General Skywalker had forced him to talk.

            “I know you believe we’re designed to withstand any kind of stress in combat,” Kix said at last. “But I wonder sometimes… if that’s true…because _I_ have a theory that sometimes all this killing goes to our heads. Maybe consciously we can’t be corrupted by it… but in our dreams… everyone becomes a target.”

            “A target? Kix, what do you mean?” Rex leaned closer.

            “I mean… maybe deep down we’re all afraid that killing is all we’re good for, and it doesn’t matter who we kill… someday maybe we won’t care anymore who we’re killing, even if it’s our own friends… we’ll stop caring because that’s what a good soldier… does.” Kix’s  voice was low and he stared at Rex as if waiting for a reprimand.

            “You’re not making any sense, Kix,” Rex said calmly, although a chill was washing through his stomach. “A good soldier wouldn’t kill his own allies.”

            “Not unless he was ordered to, sir,” Kix said nervously. “And that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

            “You’re saying that you have dreams where you’re ordered to kill allies?”

            “Kill the _Jedi!_ ” Jesse blurted, all too loudly. Kix bristled and shushed him with a slap on the arm.

            “Yeah, keep it down, Jesse,” Rex said. He glanced around, thankful for the loud music for once. Still, the bartender was staring at them. “He’s drunk.”

            “Very drunk,” Kix laughed nervously.

            “Sorry,” Jesse mumbled. “But that’s right, isn’t it? We have to kill the Jedi. All of ‘em. In the dream, I mean. Always the same mission. Can’t do anything else. It’s like I’m… trapped in my own body, and someone else is controlling it.”

            “That’s funny,” Rex muttered. “I’ve been having dreams just like that for a long time. And they’ve only gotten worse since Ringo Vinda. What about you, Kix?”

            Kix nodded miserably. “Yeah. Me too. Before Ringo Vinda. What do you think it means?”

            Rex thought carefully of how to respond. He didn’t want his men getting involved in this for their own safety.

            “Maybe you’re on to something, Kix,” he finally said. “Maybe it is stress related. Because of how often we have to follow orders, and watch our friends die as a result.”

            “When Tup first snapped,” Kix confessed, “I thought it might have been this nightmare, somehow, if he had it too… maybe it just became reality. Maybe… he was just sick of it all. In a way… I’m glad it was this parasite that got him, because if I was right about it being combat-related, well….”

            “It would mean a flaw in our design,” Rex finished for him. “It would mean these dreams are because we all secretly hate the Jedi, is that what you’re getting at?”

            “No… we don’t hate the Jedi, just this war,” Kix said. “Like Jesse said, we don’t always like the orders we’re given… but at least they usually make some kind of sense. Maybe these dreams are a result of wondering what would happen if we were forced to turn against our own. Maybe the Jedi in our dreams are just a, a symbol or something.”

            Rex took a deep breath. “It’s not easy to know when it’s better to disobey orders. All of us who survived Umbara know that it might be necessary again someday. But we’ve been trained our entire lives that following orders comes before everything else, even the lives of our comrades.”

            “Y… yes, Captain,” Kix said contritely.

            Rex shook his head. “That wasn’t a reprimand, Kix. I understand you’re not saying any of this to criticize our leaders. Right now… I’m not speaking as your captain. Just another clone who went through the same thing you did. Back on Umbara, and in countless other battles.” He motioned to the bartender for another drink. “I always thought… it was pretty clear, what our duty is. But sometimes it’s not, and at times like that, we have to trust our own judgment.” Rex frowned at his glass. “There are some choices I’ve made that I look back on now and wish I could have done differently.”

            “I know,” Kix said, glancing at Jesse regretfully.

            “Ahh, I can’t be too hard on my brothers,” Jesse mumbled, slumped against the counter with his chin in his hand. “’Sall Krell’s fault anyway.” He shoved Kix affectionately and Kix laughed and caught himself against the counter.

            Rex took a long sip of his refilled drink. Now that he had his answer, it was a relief to get Kix and Jesse off the subject of the dreams and onto something a bit less dangerous, if no less treasonous. The knowledge that they all suffered from these same nightmares and fears, whether conspiracy or not, was unsettling, but also comforting in a way. He wasn’t the only one who had struggled with these questions or wondered if there was something deep inside his mind that was terribly, terribly wrong.

…

            It was early afternoon when Rex arrived at the library. Information was what he needed, and the library seemed like the obvious first step. In truth, he had been up since before dawn, woken by yet another nightmare, but had restlessly wiled away the hours, telling himself that there was nothing suspicious about a clone visiting the library. He had never directly heard any of his men mention using the library system, but that didn't necessarily mean it wasn't a common thing. Eventually, he decided he would wait until the afternoon, hoping that going later would mean more people in the library and less attention drawn to himself. Still, Rex felt like a trespasser from the moment he set foot on the front stairs.

            Study must have done it, Rex reminded himself. Not all the information he gathered was available from the army databanks in the barracks.

            His posture carefully composed to show that he did _not_ feel out of place, he strode purposefully past the front desk. But the librarian—a Cerean whose face was near level with Rex’s despite her tall head—emitted a scandalized gasp that halted him in his tracks.

            “Hello, soldier. Is there a problem?”

            “It’s Captain, actually,” Rex said, then instantly hoped the librarian didn’t take offense at such a response. “Uh. Hello,” he tried, with a more friendly tone.

            The Cerean looked like she was raising her eyebrows at him, but Rex wasn’t sure if that was just the way her tall forehead normally looked.

            “Captain, then. Is there a problem, Captain?”

            “No. No problem, ma’am. I’m just here to do some research.”

            “We don’t allow weapons here,” she said, peering accusingly at the belt of his service uniform despite the fact that Rex had left his DC-17s at the barracks. “Or violence of any kind. If you’re here to arrest or question one of our patrons, you’ll have to wait until they leave the premises.”

            “I’m not here to arrest anyone.” Rex gave her a steady look. “I’m part of the 501st, not a member of the city guard.”

            “Not part of the city guard?” She looked perplexed. “Then… what are you doing here?”

            “As I said, I’m here to do some research,” Rex repeated, more slowly this time, consciously aware that this conversation was much too loud for his comfort. “This… is a _public_ library, isn’t it? Anyone can use it?”

            “Yes. Yes, of course,” said the Cerean, looking slightly flustered as she picked up a damaged holobook she had been repairing, then set it down again. “I, uh… I simply didn’t expect a _clone_ to have any interests—ah, interest. In coming here.” She set her fingers above the computer console in front of her, but glanced back up at him two seconds later as if startled that he was still there.

            “I don’t have any weapons on me,” Rex assured her, spreading his arms slightly so she could see. “And I don’t intend to cause any trouble.”

            “Of course,” she said. “Although, I’m afraid our selection of holobooks related to military training is sure to be unsatisfactory compared to the army’s reference computers… much less the databases on Kamino, I’m sure.”

            “Sorry, ma’am,” Rex said awkwardly, “but I’m not looking for anything like that. Maybe you can point me toward the history section.”

            “Oh! Oh.” Somehow the puzzlement on her face kept getting stronger. “We don’t have a section specifically on the history of cloning, but—”

            “Just the, uh, general area will be fine, ma’am. As long as the years are clearly marked, I’m sure I can find what I’m looking for on my own after that.”

            “Alright.” She stared at him in such a way that Rex briefly imagined her calling to one of her colleagues to come look at this oddity, exclaiming over him as one might over a fascinating bit of unidentified organic matter. But she just lifted a hand and pointed down the main walkway. “It’s on the northwest corner of the bottom floor. There’s a lift down that way.”

            “Thank you,” Rex said, bowing his head slightly before turning and striding quickly away. He checked his pace after a few steps, realizing that to hurry in this place might be inappropriate, considering the peaceful atmosphere. But civilians had been stopping to stare at him by the librarian’s desk, and if his mere presence made her so uncomfortable, perhaps the less time he spent here, the better.

            Down below him and to the left, rows of shelves glowed dimly with the light of holobooks, mostly washed out by the much brighter light of the sun pouring in through the ceiling. Once Rex had descended to the bottom floor, he felt less watched. Everyone down here was absorbed in what they were reading, and only a few glanced up as he passed.

            Rex took a few steps into the history section and found himself surrounded by hundreds of holobooks, their sides sporting thinly lettered titles on the Expansionist Era and the early formation of the Republic. Three aisles later things got a little more current… meaning, less than a dozen millennia ago. Rex walked to the end of the shelves and crossed in front of them, noting the centuries as they passed. He caught glimpses of subsections devoted to the various sectors of the galaxy and the early histories of individual planets or cultures. For a moment, the sheer volume of information overwhelmed him.

            Four thousand years ago, and then three thousand, the markers said. There were Sith wars and Mandalorian wars, and Rex even did a double-take when he saw the name _Fett_ out of the corner of his eye. Cassus Fett, perhaps some ancestor of his own. But he hadn’t come here to look up Mandalorian history.

            The sections got larger as they drew closer to the present. At last, he reached the last one, which encompassed the last fifteen years and thus, the year his own life had begun. It was an odd feeling, realizing how short a time he had lived, standing on the edge of the unknown with so much history behind him. A few moments later, his wandering eyes stopped and he reached for it: _The Life of Chancellor Palpatine._

He called up the holographic preview. The title image was of a beautiful city surrounded by water and lush plant life. Rex looked at the table of contents, tracing his finger down the chapter titles and the years _. Invasion of Naboo,_ said the chapter which was marked with the very same year Rex had been an embryo.

            Rex grabbed a stack of other holobooks at random and went to find a free table, passing several open ones that were too close to other people, and finally settling on one tucked behind a subsection on creation legends. Half an hour later, he had read the entire chapter, checked the index for any mention of Kamino or clones, and started skimming the text from the beginning.

            _Organic chips, built into our genetic code._ If every clone truly had been implanted with these chips at birth, the best time for Palpatine to interfere would have been the very beginning. But so far, there was not even the slightest hint of how the Chancellor might have been involved. Contrary to Rex’s expectations, the Chancellor had not even been in a position of much power until that year. He was only a senator from Naboo, who had neither the means nor the motive to create a conspiracy of such magnitude.

            Rex’s brow furrowed as he stared down at the page. There had been no indication of coming war with the Separatists in that year. He scrolled through the surrounding pages to double check. Yes: the Confederacy of Independent Systems hadn’t even existed until after the clone army was commissioned.

            Rex had always assumed that the clone army was created in response to a pre-existing threat, but if this book was at all accurate, then they were created in a time of relative peace. If Chancellor Palpatine hadn’t commissioned the clone army, who had?

            He paged forward to the first mention of clones: the Battle of Geonosis. The word was buried deep in a long paragraph. _In response to this sudden discovery of a Separatist conspiracy, the Senate granted Chancellor Palpatine emergency powers. The desperate situation which led to such a dramatic change in policy became apparent when the first battle of what would become known as the Clone Wars broke out that same day, and a force of over two hundred thousand clone infantrymen was led by Jedi Master Yoda to vanquish the droid armies of the CIS. This clone army was later renamed the Grand Army of the Republic…._

            That was all. No further mention of clones in that chapter, and the next only briefly touched on how the Chancellor helped to organize the army under Jedi generals. There had to be some information somewhere about who commissioned the army to begin with.

            Rex looked up to check whether any of the other books he’d grabbed might be useful, and froze. A clone trooper was approaching his table—a commander by the insignia on his tunic.

             “Reading anything interesting, Captain?” The commander leaned across the table and lifted the biography so he could see the title on the side.

            The commander could have been nearly anyone. He had the typical clone hairstyle, and no tattoos or other markings on his face to set him apart.

            “Just… catching up on a little history,” Rex said casually, trying to watch the other’s face without being too obvious. He reminded himself that, as uneasy as he felt, he was doing nothing wrong. It wasn’t all that strange for a clone to be reading about the first battle of Geonosis.

             “Life of the Chancellor,” the commander said with eyebrows raised, and pulled out a chair across from Rex. “Could be enlightening. What else are you… _investigating_ there?” He tilted his head to look at the stack of books Rex hadn’t yet touched.

            Rex pushed them to an angle where the commander could read the titles more easily. Most of them were biographies of other key figures in the war. There was even one about Senator Amidala.

            “Looks like you have an interest in politics.” The commander leaned back in his seat, but left his palms resting on the table between them. His expression seemed pleasant enough.

            “I just like to stay informed,” Rex said, and closed Palpatine’s biography. “Is there something you wanted to speak with me about, Commander?”

            The commander stared straight at him for three or four long seconds before his eyes narrowed a little. He glanced around and leaned forward again. “Well? Did you find anything?”

            “Sir?” Rex gave him a questioning look.

            “About what he said. You know… in the warehouse.” The commander’s voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes boring into Rex.

            Rex stared back, skin prickling. “Commander Fox.” He was relieved that his voice sounded merely surprised. “I…didn’t recognize you out of your armor.”

            Fox shook his head slightly, glancing around again. “Sometimes, brother, it’s a good thing not to be recognized.”

            Rex stayed silent, trying to work out if that sentence was a warning, a taunt, or a confession.

            “I can’t say I blame you for being cautious,” Fox went on. “I’ve been pretty spooked myself since that whole thing with Fives happened.”

            Rex squinted at Fox. “I don’t follow you.”

            Fox’s brow furrowed. “Let’s just say for a second that he was right. About everything. It would be a pretty big risk to even ask questions about it, right? You wouldn’t want anyone to think you were being… disloyal.”

            “I’m on leave, sir,” Rex said bluntly. “I decided that learning a little history would be a good use of my time. I don’t think anyone can accuse me of disloyalty just for looking at books that are available to every citizen of the Republic. But if you’re saying someone does have doubts, I’d be more than happy to address them.”

             “Oh, I wasn’t talking about you,” Fox said grimly, lacing his hands on the table. “I was explaining why _I’m_ here. And why it’s a relief that you didn’t recognize me, actually.”

            Rex studied Fox’s face. His instinct was to continue playing dumb, but Fox was as close to the Chancellor as any clone had ever been or probably ever would be. If he was telling the truth and wanted to help investigate… his resources and internal intelligence would be invaluable to any effort Rex made to uncover the truth.

           Maybe the knot in his stomach was just a result of seeing it again in his mind’s eye: the smoking hole in Fives’ chest, and the gun in Fox’s hand. But maybe it wasn’t.

            “Could I offer you some advice, Commander?” Rex said quietly, mind racing.

            Fox blinked. “By all means.”

            “I assume that you were following orders, the night Fives died. Maybe you weren’t given explicit orders to shoot to kill, but all you knew was that Fives had tried to assassinate the Chancellor, and maybe you knew that he might be infected with something that had already made another trooper go insane and kill a Jedi General. You did… what you felt you had to.” Rex inhaled slowly. “Maybe now you’ve thought twice about what happened. But even if the Chancellor were in on some conspiracy, like Fives claimed, what good would it do for you to try and investigate? Or me? What could we do that Fives couldn’t? General Skywalker heard everything Fives said, and he took it to the Jedi Council. I think this is a matter better left to them.”

            Fox’s eyes narrowed more and more as Rex went on. He looked worried.

            “How much did you hear, anyway?” Rex asked.

            “I’m not sure how long you were already talking to him when my men and I arrived.” Fox shrugged. “I heard him accuse the Chancellor, and he mentioned this thing about the chips before, when we were escorting him off the ship. But anyway… then I saw that he’d trapped you and General Skywalker in that ray shield. My next move seemed like the obvious response.”

            Rex sighed under his breath. “What did Fives say about the chips?”

            “He said they were being used in a conspiracy to control the army.”

            “That’s all?” For a moment Rex had dared to hope that another clue would present itself.

            “Yeah. Why? Did he say something more about it to you?”

            “No, sir.”

            Fox frowned at him. “So you really aren’t worried about what he said.”

            “I can’t think of any reason why the Chancellor would be part of such a conspiracy,” Rex said honestly. “I don’t know how Fives came to that conclusion. I wish I did. But he’s dead now, and can’t tell us any more about it. And nothing we do from this point on is going to change that fact. So unless _you_ know something more about why Fives believed he was being framed by the Chancellor, there’s nothing we can do but accept that Fives… really had lost his mind to that parasite.”

            “I guess you’re right,” sighed Fox tensely, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “It’s just been… bothering me, this whole… conspiracy thing. I really hoped you would know something more about it.”

            “Sorry, Commander. I wish I did. I would think,” Rex mused, “being the leader of the City Guard, you’d know the character of the Chancellor better than any of us.”

            “Well,” Fox laughed lightly. “I’m not a senator. He doesn’t tell me everything. But you’re right… from all I know of him, the Chancellor’s no traitor. He has the Republic’s best interests at heart.”

            “Well, then,” Rex said evenly. “I guess we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

            Fox looked at him sideways. “I wouldn’t say that, Captain. There are still plenty of other possibilities. If the Separatists are involved, I would worry plenty. If they can get at the chips in our heads, that suggests a very high level of infiltration among Republic forces. It could mean the war’s outcome was decided before it even began.”

            “Hmm.” Rex shut off the biography and set it back on top of the stack. “We’re supposed to be immune to that parasite now. If one of us goes crazy again, then we’ll know there’s a conspiracy still ongoing. But the mastermind behind it had better target someone else’s men, because they’re not gonna get any more members of the 501st. Not on my watch.”

            “On that note… I’d be vigilant, if I were you, Captain.” Fox stood and leaned across the table a bit, speaking in a much sharper and more unsettling tone than he’d yet used. “Fives may not have been solely responsible for his behavior, but I’ve noticed you and your men are a little unorthodox to begin with. You don’t want to attract any more unwanted attention to yourself. If a conspirator is responsible for this, I wouldn’t be surprised if they _were_ targeting the 501 st. You've made it easy.”

            “Thanks for the warning.” Rex said quietly. He stood too, and Fox took a step back. “I think it’s time for me to visit the mess. Excuse me, Commander.”

            “See you around… Captain.”

            Rex deposited his books with a shelving droid and headed for the exit, careful not to seem too particular in where his eyes wandered on the way out. Fox didn’t seem to be following him.

            The librarian was gone from the front desk when he passed it, and Rex wondered if Fox had encountered any trouble coming in, like he had. The Commander had waltzed up to him as if two clones meeting in the public library was the most natural thing in the galaxy, but the librarian’s attitude suggested differently. Fox’s presence could not have been an accident.

            Once he was out in the open, surrounded by the familiar noise of traffic and voices, he realized just how tense he had been during that conversation. For a moment, as the anxiety faded like a dream, he wondered again if he was overreacting, made paranoid by all this talk of plots and deceptions. Perhaps Fox’s normally dramatic manner made everything he said seem much more sinister than it was. Maybe he was honestly worried about this incident and had gone to such lengths out of hope that Rex could help put his mind at ease.

            With a sinking feeling, Rex realized that it was too big a risk either way. Even in the unlikely event that Fox wasn’t involved at all, _getting_ him further involved would be too dangerous—he couldn’t trust the Commander’s discretion in sharing such treasonous thoughts. This plot—if it existed—involved the use of clones, and any clone who knew about it ran the risk of being marked as a threat… to be eliminated as soon as possible.

...

            Rex barely tasted any of what he was chewing as he sat in the noisy mess hall. His investigation had only just begun, but he was already running out of ideas for where he could look further. He had hoped his visit to the library would lead him in a new direction, but although Fox had cut his research short, Rex had a feeling he would have found little in the other books in his stack. He should probably have felt relieved to have found no evidence of a conspiracy, but if it was really a plot so deep and dark, any evidence that might have existed would have been destroyed long ago. Rex felt the first flicker of fear that he would never be able to move past this, because no lack of evidence could ever prove that a conspiracy didn't exist; it could just as easily mean the mastermind was in a position of considerable power and knew how to manipulate information. Rex put down his fork. The foodboard sitting on his tray had never looked so unappetizing, and that was saying something.

            “They’re back!”

            “Victory on Ord Radama!”

            An uproar of cheers by the doors brought his head around. The 212th was streaming in, a mass of white and goldenrod, and the men around the room were lifting their glasses in toasts. Cody was there at the front, laughing at the loud congratulations as his brothers crowded around slapping each other on the back and shaking each other by the shoulders. Rex hadn’t seen him look so genuinely thrilled since their graduation into the army.

            Cody caught his eye across the room. Rex stood and went toward him, but the crowd was too thick to reach him right away. For a moment Rex lost sight of him until suddenly Cody was there right next to him, gripping his arms

            “Rex!” Cody yelled happily. “We’re halfway there! Ossus and Ryloth are already ours, and the Seppies are pulling out of New Bornalex! We’re going to win this war!”

            “Course we are.” Rex forced a smirk. He felt less of Cody’s contagious excitement than he wanted to.

            “I heard you were there on Ryloth!” Cody threw an arm around Rex’s shoulders and tried to extricate himself from the crowd. “Too bad Commander Bacara and General Mundi had to take all the credit, right?”

            “Oh, I don’t think General Skywalker will let them take _all_ the credit,” Rex said dryly. “Or General Secura, for that matter.” Cody was pulling him forward aimlessly, occasionally stopping to grip hands, arms, or shoulders of comrades, so Rex headed for the table he’d just vacated. Cody followed, still not letting go.

            “It was all worth it.” Cody said it in one big exhale. “Let me tell you, that was a long, _exhausting_ battle, but we won!” He grabbed at the air with his free hand, clenching a victorious fist. “It was all worth it. Guess this means you’ll be shipping out to Xagobah soon.”

            “Maybe,” Rex said, wondering if General Skywalker would allow him to return to service in time.

            “Eh, I wouldn’t worry.” Cody let go of Rex so they could both sit down. “You’ll be back here before you know it! Those clankers can’t take the terrain like we can. Once we start this second wave of assaults, we’ll only keep building momentum. I predict total surrender from the Separatists in less than a year!”

            _And then what?_ Rex thought. He kept a small smile at the corner of his mouth, to encourage Cody to go on.

            “I don’t know where General Kenobi will be taking us next,” Cody said. “If he’s not sick of swamps yet, maybe we’ll join the fight on Xagobah.”

            “Yeah. Maybe.”

            Cody’s grin faded quickly. “Rex, what’s wrong? Something’s bothering you.” He froze for a second. “That’s right—the parasite. I heard… it killed two of your men.”

            So that was the official story. No mention of the manhunt for Fives, although surely word would get around through everyone who had been involved. Rex clenched his hands under the table.

            “Yeah. Tup… and Fives.”

            “Fives?” Cody’s face fell and he shook his head. “He deserved a better end than that.”

            “At least we have a cure now,” Rex said, not wanting to puncture the jubilant spirit in the room. “Anyway… it happened before we even went to Ryloth. I’ve already spent more than enough time thinking about it. _Now_ it’s time to celebrate your victory.”

            Cody hesitated a moment, then gave in and smiled. “Right. _Our_ victories. Here we are, back together again! And I’m starving, actually.”

            “Better get in line before all the ‘boards are gone,” Rex said.

            “Yeah.” Cody walked off, and Rex was glad to see the spring already returning to his step. And now that General Kenobi was back, he had an idea of where to take his own next step.

            Cody returned a few minutes later with a stack of sliced foodboard and something that looked suspiciously like dressed up energy pudding.

            “Welcome back, Commander,” Rex tried joking.

            “Good to be back,” Cody said as he sat down. “Did anything else happen while I was gone?”

            “Not really,” Rex said. “Listen, Cody… I need to ask you a favor.”

            “Alright.” Cody took a bite.

            “I need to speak with General Kenobi… alone.”

            Cody swallowed hard and winced. “Okay,” he coughed. “Sure. But… is something wrong?”

            “I’m not sure yet.” Rex looked at Cody earnestly. “And I don’t want rumors spreading around if I’m mistaken. I just need to ask him some questions, that’s all.”

            “You’re being awfully mysterious.” Cody raised his eyebrows. “But alright. I’m sure you’ll tell me what’s going on sooner or later.”

            “If there’s anything to tell.” Rex tried not to feel guilty about lying; his secrecy was for Cody’s own protection.

            “I’ll tell him you would like to meet as soon as possible, then.”

            “Thanks,” Rex breathed in relief. “So… looks like you didn’t lose too many this time.”

            “Less than I expected, for such a large operation,” Cody nodded. “At one point, though, things looked like they might take a turn for the worst. Over half our forces lost communications, but we all just stuck to the plan, and apart from a few diversions… things worked out exactly like the General predicted. Longest textbook battle I’ve ever fought, but there were a _lot_ of clankers. By the time we were finished, the roads were practically paved with them.” He huffed a laugh. “The cities looked like massive scrap piles!”

            “That’ll teach the Separatists. A few more battles like that, maybe they’ll finally start running out of droids. It can’t be cheap to keep building new ones.”

            “Cheaper than we are,” Cody said. “But you can’t beat quality with quantity, right?”

            Rex laughed under his breath, aware that he still wasn’t measuring up to Cody’s high spirits. But Cody seemed willing to overlook that, and Rex was grateful when a few sergeants and commanders of the other divisions came up to distract him. It was good to see that life went on as usual, as much as Rex had felt isolated lately. And that made the thought of this conspiracy all the more frightening. Just like on Ringo Vinda, someday this might all come crashing down at a moment’s notice, with no warning, and leave a trail of unanswerable questions in its wake.

...

            Obi-Wan stared at the map of Ord Radama, and then back at the grid from the sensor logs with its little blips of light that represented ships. As well as the battle had gone on the ground, the battle above the planet had been very different.

            “Found any new information about their tactics?” Master Choi asked over hologram.

            “No. But I don’t think their ships were equipped with anything particularly unusual.” Obi-Wan sighed and pulled at his mustache nervously. “From the readings I see here, it seems the first two of our ships to be decimated were flying without operable shields, just like the others who fell back. I’ve thoroughly debriefed the command crews of each surviving ship that was forced to retreat, and I believe the key is in the order of events. As soon as those ships began firing, something happened so that their weapons system overloaded, and the shields failed.”

            Master Choi pulled his head back so that his scaly chin rested on his collar. “Hm. Unlucky coincidence?”

            “I don’t think so. I’ll request a report on where those ships last stopped for repairs or modifications. Someone must have done a bad job on them. It may have even been the same person for all five ships.”

            “Don’t worry, Master Kenobi,” General Choi said brightly. “I’ll look into it for you. You shouldn’t worry so much. These things do happen sometimes, you know, and technology isn’t always reliable.”

            “Mm yes, I suppose you’re right… but I have a bad feeling about this.”

            “Perhaps some meditation is in order,” Choi suggested kindly. “In the meantime, I’ll get the results of my investigation to you as soon as I can. May the Force be with you.”

            Obi-Wan bowed slightly and Choi’s hologram disappeared. He turned back to the grids he was studying and wondered if perhaps it was time to take a break after all.

            His communicator beeped, and Cody’s voice came through. “General Kenobi.”

            “Yes, Cody?”

            “Captain Rex asked me to relay a message to you, sir. He would like to meet with you privately as soon as you are available.”

            Obi-Wan frowned at his wrist. “Curious. Did he say why?”

            “No, sir. He only said that he wanted to avoid any rumors if he was mistaken.”

            “Mistaken about what, I wonder,” Obi-Wan said half to himself.

            “Your guess is as good as mine, General. Will you meet with him?”

            “Yes,” Obi-Wan said, after only a moment’s hesitation. “Tell the Captain I’ll meet him at the command barracks at eighteen hundred hours. Was anyone else told of this?”

            “I doubt anyone was listening in, sir. We’re all too busy celebrating.”

            “Let’s keep it that way for now. I appreciate your discretion.”

            “Any time, sir. Cody out.”

            Obi-Wan lowered his arm with a sense of creeping dread. Rex’s concerns should have been brought to Anakin. There could only be one reason the Captain was coming to him instead—Anakin had done something that Rex wanted to report to the Jedi Council.

            Eighteen hundred hours was nearly an hour and a half away. Obi-Wan tried turning his attention back to the holograms, but after a few minutes of staring blankly at them, he knew it was futile. His mind was no longer on the details of his own mission, but on Anakin’s. He called up the report, wondering what his former Padawan might have done.

            There was no hint of questionable behavior in the report—by all accounts, Anakin had assisted the transfer of casualties without any problem, and then provided a diversion for Secura and her troops. No unnecessary bravado, no suspicious blanks where he might have slipped off to some secret rendezvous. Obi-Wan sighed at himself, saddened by his own fears.

            Did he really believe Anakin was capable of something truly terrible? He thought of all the times Anakin had killed in front of him, all too nonchalantly. But so had every Jedi, by now. There wasn’t time to offer grief at each life taken. It was a truth Obi-Wan had never quite managed to make peace with.

            As the minutes ticked by, he retreated to the gardens, trying to meditate as Master Choi suggested. Seated on the ground by the bank of a pond, he heard the trees rustling above and around him, and the water flowing gently, almost soundlessly. Obi-Wan’s worry flowed through him but never fully left, bringing with it wild speculation. Had Anakin harmed civilians? Disregarded the lives of some of the casualties, or of his own men? Become inappropriately involved with someone? Killed someone he should have taken prisoner, or tortured someone for information? It wouldn’t be the first time.

            Despite his increasing professionalism on the battlefield, Anakin felt disturbingly distant and unpredictable at times, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but worry. He didn’t like what this war was doing to the Jedi Order—and if it was even affecting _him_ so much, Obi-Wan barely dared imagine how this endless violence and suspicion might seep into Anakin’s fierce, unguarded heart.

            He tried not to let these thoughts discourage him. He had done his best to train Anakin well, to give him the tools he needed to control himself. But sometimes it was difficult to believe the fault was not his own. Perhaps his own attachment to Anakin had inadvertently caused this deficiency in his training. All too often, a Padawan inherited its master’s weaknesses, and Obi-Wan knew that for all his preaching, he was not a perfect model of detachment… not at all.

            At long last, the time came to leave. Minutes later, his speeder was parked outside the barracks, and the rushing air still hadn’t completely cleared his mind. Obi-Wan walked through the doors to find Rex waiting at attention just on the other side.

            “Captain,” Obi-Wan said in blunt greeting. “Have you decided where we should talk?”

            “Yes, sir,” Rex said briskly. “Right this way.”

            A few minutes later they entered one of the storage rooms where tools and spare parts for the army’s many vehicles were kept.

            “No one should interrupt us here, sir.”

            “Very good.” Obi-Wan said, and faced Rex squarely. “Now… let’s not waste any time, shall we?”

            Rex's posture was still rigid with formality. “Yes, General. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I… realize this is unusual.”

            “Indeed it is. Very unusual. I can only assume the situation is serious.” Obi-Wan did not bother to keep a placid expression. “Is it Anakin?” he asked sharply. “What has he done?”

            “Sir?” The Captain's eyebrows furrowed.

            “You must be fairly certain of whatever you saw or heard.” Obi-Wan took a step closer to Rex, his voice rising slightly. “You would never speak ill of him otherwise.”

            “Speak ill of General Skywalker?” Rex looked taken aback at the thought. “General Kenobi, I’m—I’m sorry, sir, but you misunderstand. That is not why I’ve asked to speak with you.”

            “Isn’t it? I was wondering what you might want to ask _me_ that you couldn’t just as easily ask your own General,” Obi-Wan explained. “The most obvious explanation is that you needed to report something to the Jedi Council without him knowing about it.”

            “I have _no_ complaints about General Skywalker’s command, sir!” Rex almost sounded offended.

            “Really?” Obi-Wan asked skeptically. “Then why are you so tense? So defensive? I know this must be difficult for you, considering how much personal loyalty you have to Anakin. But if he _has_ done something seriously wrong, the Council needs to know about it.”

            Rex stared at him with for a long moment. “Excuse me, General. I meant no disrespect, I was… I didn’t realize the Jedi Council had any doubts about General Skywalker’s loyalty. It surprised me, that’s all.”

            “Oh. Well then,” Obi-Wan sighed, deflated by the realization of how indiscreet he was being. Sharing his own doubts about a fellow Jedi with a clone officer was improper at best. “We don’t… doubt his loyalty, exactly. _I_ doubt his judgment and self-discipline, at times, but….”

            He cleared his throat, embarrassed at his rash behavior.

            “Moving on then, to the _real_ reason you asked me here.”

            “Thank you, sir.” Rex hesitated. “If I seem uneasy, General, it’s only because… some questions have been weighing pretty heavily on my mind since Ringo Vinda. I have mentioned my concerns to General Skywalker, but I’d rather not bother him again until I have more information.”

            “And what exactly have you been bothering him with?” Obi-Wan gave a weak smile, hoping Rex would relax and get to the point. “You have my permission to speak freely, of course.”

            A tight breath escaped Rex as he nodded. Obi-Wan noted the Captain’s fists clenching at his sides, his eyes a little restless.

            “Starting from the beginning,” Rex finally said. “Two of my best men, Tup and Fives, were killed because, for whatever reason, their inhibitor chips began to break down. Now, I didn’t even _know_ about these chips until Fives mentioned them. He believed that they were part of a conspiracy—that they could be used to control our actions and turn us against the Jedi.”

            “So I’ve heard,” Obi-Wan said. “But there have been no more breakdowns since the army was inoculated. I’m inclined to believe that the parasite the doctors found was indeed the cause.”

             “Sir, I’ve done some research since the incident with Fives, and I realized that the army was commissioned long before the Separatists became a threat. Naturally, I’ve been wondering _who_ decided the Republic needed an army this large in a time of peace.”

            “What are you getting at, Captain?” Obi-Wan asked. “You’re saying you’ve been investigating the possibility of a conspiracy on your own?” Perhaps Anakin was rubbing off a little too much on his first-in-command.

            “Yes, sir.” Rex kept his chin up. “It’s my duty to defend the Republic, and the lives of my men.”

            “Yes….” Obi-Wan frowned at Rex, unsettled by the almost accusatory tone he heard in the Captain’s voice. “And… you believe whoever commissioned the army is also responsible for what happened to your men?”

            “I haven’t come to any conclusions yet, General,” Rex sighed. “But if there were a way for these chips to make us turn on our allies, the best time to set that up would have been at the very beginning of our creation.”

            “You seem to be suggesting that the enemy simply dropped a time bomb on our doorstep and hoped we’d take it inside.” Obi-wan smiled wanly. “That seems like a rather foolish plan if you ask me.”

            Actually, Obi-Wan felt a zing of nerves at the thought, but dismissed it. It was true, there was still so much mystery surrounding Syfo-Dias and his decision to keep the army a secret even from the Council itself. But Rex couldn’t possibly know any of that.

            The Captain frowned at the floor. “I’m just trying to explore every possibility, sir. To be honest, I’d like nothing more than to put this matter to rest. But I can’t seem to get that question out of my head.” His brow was furrowed as he looked back up at Obi-Wan, his voice soft. “General… if you could tell me who was involved in commissioning the army, maybe it would help put my mind at ease.”

            “Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to share such information with just anyone,” Obi-Wan said lightly. “Not without the Council’s approval.”

            “But, sir—”

            “Rest assured.” Obi-Wan raised a hand to cut Rex off. “The Council is not blind to the possibility of a traitor or a spy among our forces.  But judging from our information, you and all the other clones should be safe from any further breakdowns.”

            A pained look crossed Rex’s face before he nodded once. “Yes, sir. I’m relieved to hear it. I assume, then, that whoever commissioned the army was someone the Jedi trusted?”

            “What you can assume is that the Jedi Council would not have missed any lead you might think you have, Captain.” Obi-Wan stared at Rex, amazed at the Captain’s relentlessness. “It is not your responsibility to investigate this. You trust Anakin and I, don’t you?”

            “Yes, sir! Absolutely.”

            “Then I fail to see why you feel any need to question me on this.” Obi-Wan folded his arms. “Or go behind Anakin’s back for a second opinion in the first place.”

            “As I said, General,” Rex said uncomfortably. “The only reason I’m asking you instead of General Skywalker is because _you_ are a member of the Jedi Council and, as I thought, you have access to more information. It has nothing to do with whether or not I trust and respect him. I do. I’ve trusted him with my life and the lives of my men every time we go into battle.”

            “Good. Then there’s nothing more to discuss, is there?”

            “Sir, with all due respect, I was _there_ when Fives—”

            “Captain Rex!” Obi-Wan burst, his shock at Rex making his stern tone a bit louder than he’d intended.

            Rex winced and snapped to attention. “Sir.”

            Obi-Wan took a moment to breathe and center himself. “Perhaps you should explain to me in more detail why you’re so fixated on this.”

            “I’m sorry, sir,” Rex said very quietly, head bowed. “You’re right…it isn’t my place.”

            Something about the Captain’s contrition, the sudden reversion to an even more submissive clone than Obi-Wan had ever known Rex to be, reminded him that it was not, in fact, his own Padawan he was dealing with. Guilt began to seep in as he realized Rex would never be so willful for its own sake. He was not Anakin, after all.

            Obi-Wan reached out with the Force, calming as he submitted to its flow. The Captain was exhausted, that much came through clearly… and afraid. There was a sense of rawness, a wound that had not quite closed, but no ill-will, none of the resentment or pride that came off Anakin in waves when he was being contrary.

            “You meant no harm by it,” Obi-Wan decided aloud. “I should have realized that these events have had a profound impact on you… especially considering you were closely involved in both incidents.” He stroked his beard slowly. “Naturally, it must be hard to reconcile the men you knew with what they became in their last moments.”

            Rex said nothing, but Obi-Wan saw him take a slow breath.

            “The most terrifying enemy of all is the darkness in our own minds,” Obi-Wan went on, softening his voice a bit more. “They fell to it through no fault of their own. You can at least take comfort in that.” He frowned sympathetically. “It’s not strange that you should dwell on this, but remember… fear will destroy your mind in much the same way if you allow it to take too much of a hold. I’ve never thought of you as the type to become paralyzed by uncertainty.”

            “No, sir,” Rex agreed in an undertone. “I prefer to take action whenever I can.”

            “Sometimes, when something like this occurs, the greatest action we can take is simply to not act,” Obi-Wan murmured, putting a hand on Rex’s shoulder. “Your duty is to the living, Captain. Trying to change the past will only make it harder to heal.”

            “Yes, General,” Rex breathed, meeting his eyes steadily despite the weariness in his voice. “I understand.”

            “Get some rest, if you can,” Obi-Wan said. “Until this war is over, the integrity of the army is one of the Jedi Council’s greatest concerns. If anything threatens that again, you can be sure we _will_ take it seriously.”

            “I appreciate the reassurance, sir,” Rex saluted briefly. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

            Obi-Wan gave a half-salute in return. “You’re a fine soldier, Captain. Take care, and keep an eye on Anakin for me.”

            “I’ve got his back, sir,” Rex gave a half-smile, and with a short nod, Obi-Wan turned to go, resolving to try and follow his own advice.

            It seemed even the clones feared being turned from their true purpose, twisted by this war into something they had never intended to be. Maybe when this violence was over, all its participants—clones, Jedi, politicians, and all—would finally have time to recover the clarity that was slipping from their fingers day by day.

…

           Standing at the guard rail on the platform outside Seventy-Nines was like standing on the edge of a cliff face. Beyond was one of the industrial sectors, where the roofs leveled out far, far below Rex’s vantage point. In the dim collective light of the city, it almost resembled a rocky wasteland or a vast lake reflecting the upper levels of the metropolis. Behind him, a few drunk officers laughed obnoxiously over nothing, but on the whole, it was quieter out here, and certainly much less crowded.

            He wanted to celebrate with Cody, but after five minutes of standing in the overstuffed bar, Rex knew he wasn’t going to enjoy this no matter how hard he tried. He would just bring down the mood if he stayed, so here he was, leaning on the rail and wondering where to look next.

            There had been a second trip to the library, and just as he suspected, it yielded little information of interest. All he’d really learned was that despite recent scientific interest in Kamino’s ecosystems and ocean life, general knowledge of Kaminoan society and history was extremely limited. By all appearances, their cloning had been a small but lucrative endeavor before Jango Fett had come along, and the Grand Army of the Republic was probably the single largest order of clones the planet’s facilities had ever received. Most likely, he wouldn’t learn anything he didn’t already know about being a clone unless a Kaminoan chose to tell him.

            Rex heaved a huge sigh and rubbed hard between his eyes. So many dead ends. And all the lost sleep was catching up to him. The world felt surreal and dangerous even in perfectly safe environments like the barracks, the dark feeling from his dream clinging on to the edges of his waking hours.

            Footsteps came up behind him and Rex turned, grabbing for pistols that weren’t there.

            “Cody.” He relaxed.

            “Rex.” Cody smiled, smacking his arm lightly. “What are you doing out here?”

            “Sorry. Guess I’m just not in the mood.” Rex shrugged with an apologetic look.

            “You missed a great story from Bly,” Cody laughed under his breath. “I’ll tell it to you some other time though. You sure you’re alright? You don’t look so good.” He leaned on the rail next to Rex.

            “I think I’m just tired,” Rex said. “Still not sleeping very well.”

            “Bad dreams?”

            “Yeah.” Rex glanced at Cody, but the Commander’s face was peaceful, his eyes briefly closed against an updraft. “Really bad.”

            Cody studied the patterns of lights below, waiting for a surge of raucous voices behind them to subside. “How was your talk with General Kenobi?”

            “Eh,” Rex breathed, not sure what to say. “It wasn’t exactly what I expected. But it looks like there was nothing to worry about after all.”

            “Of course there was nothing to worry about.” Cody grinned. “Come on, Rex. I told you, we’re winning this!”

            “The tide of a battle can turn in less than a second,” Rex said, half to himself. “But you’re right… maybe I’m just being paranoid.”

            “Everything alright with General Skywalker, then?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Well? I dunno,” Cody waved a hand in a jokingly exasperated gesture.  “Can you blame me for trying to guess what’s going on with you? You’ve been acting kind of odd. I thought maybe it had something to do with Fives and….”

            “Tup,” Rex finished for him.

            “Yeah.” Cody tilted his head. “Wanna talk about it?”

            Rex stared back. Gratitude clashed with the creeping chill in his chest and he tried to think of a truth he could tell without having to explain everything.

            “If you don’t, I understand.” Cody turned so his back was against the rail. “Or if sensitive information is involved. Your choice.”

            “I know.” Rex looked away. “You’re right. Something about the situation with Tup and Fives hit me pretty hard. I haven’t been at my best since then. I’ve been distracted. And now people are starting to notice.”

            “Ahh. Gotcha.” Cody smirked. “General Skywalker’s not the best Jedi to go to for advice about staying level-headed. General Kenobi, on the other hand….”

            “You’d better stop criticizing my General, Commander.” Rex punched Cody’s arm lightly.

            Cody laughed. “It’s true, isn’t it? You went to General Kenobi for answers. You must have thought he’d have better ones that General Skywalker.” Cody raised an eyebrow. “Did he?”

            “Yeah. I guess he did,” Rex said softly.

            “Let me guess.” Cody folded his arms and squinted up at the invisible stars. “He told you that it’s natural to be disturbed by what happened. I mean, you watched one of your own men fire on a Jedi General. A soldier you knew to be loyal! And then it nearly happened all over again with Fives, right?” Cody gave the sky a deep frown. “I know if I’d seen that happening right in front of me… it would be like my worst nightmares coming true.”

            “Yeah.” Rex swallowed. “Exactly.”

            “Were you worried something was wrong with you, too?” Cody’s voice softened.

            Rex nodded. “For a while there, I was convinced I was infected. Then, after we all got the inoculation, I still didn’t feel right.” He sighed and gripped the rail tight. “So I wanted to make sure there wasn’t any chance I would go the same way as Tup and Fives.”

            “And General Kenobi told you something that eased your mind?” Cody guessed.

            “A little. He’s pretty sure I’m just… still shocked about what happened,” Rex shrugged. “He’s probably right,” he added grudgingly.

            “Probably?” Cody raised an eyebrow. “The alternative is that you’re not shocked at all, and in that case, I’d say something _is_ wrong with you. We may be designed to deal with more than most soldiers can take, but that doesn’t mean we’re emotionless droids. Fives was one of your best men, right?”

            “Yeah. And a good friend.”

            “So? How many times have we talked after a hard battle about all the good men we lost? We both know how to focus and keep appearances on the battlefield, but like this?” Cody pointed at the space between them. “Just between us, it’s different, isn’t it? We both know there have been battles that hit us too hard. I still can’t believe what happened on Umbara. But your men have been pushed hard from the beginning, I mean… Teth was especially bad for the Five Hundred First.” Cody shook his head slowly. “I’m telling you Rex, I don’t envy you sometimes. You’ve been through a lot. You don’t always have to pretend it doesn’t matter.”

            Chest tight, Rex blew out a breath and surprised himself by turning it into a laugh halfway through. “You know, what you just said… it reminds me of some things I’ve heard General Skywalker say before, to Commander Tano.”

            “Does that mean you’ll listen to me because my advice is almost as wise as a Jedi’s?” Cody teased, nudging him with his elbow.

            “As long as you take being compared to Skywalker as a compliment,” Rex shot back.

            Cody laughed, the loud laugh he got when he was a little buzzed. The sound of it, and the sight of Cody’s face split with a grin after offering such serious, comforting words, hit Rex right in the gut so that he started laughing too. And for a few seconds, the platform of Seventy-Nines transformed into a place where their nightmares were impossible.

            “But Rex,” Cody coughed, still a little breathless from laughing. “I mean it. It’ll all turn out fine, you’ll see. I know we’re supposed to be the perfect soldiers, but sometimes I think you take that a little too literally.”

            “Well,” Rex said wryly. “I _am_ still waiting on that promotion.”

            Cody laughed again, and Rex grinned, relieved that, just for these moments, he could forget about everything that had been weighing on him. Maybe what he’d told Fox earlier had more truth to it than he’d intended. What could he do that the Jedi Council could not? He had no leads after investigating Palpatine’s life. And the dreams might simply be a shared phenomenon due to the fact that, as clones, they all started out with the same brain, the same nervous system… theoretically, the same basic way of making sense of all the violence they took part in every day.

            “What?” Cody interrupted his thoughts. “What are you worrying about now?”

            “I’m not worrying,” Rex sighed. “It’s just… hard to believe Fives could act like he did just because of some parasite.”

            Cody was silent for a moment before answering. “That must have been pretty terrible to watch.”

            “He wasn’t himself,” Rex said, and he found he halfway believed it.

            His mind began to replay the scene in the warehouse, Fives shaking and gasping in his arms, but he forced himself to focus on Cody’s concerned face instead, and the horror faded enough that he could speak again.

             “Hey,” Rex said. “Thanks for coming out here. I’ll be alright—you shouldn’t miss out on the fun just because of this.”

            “Nah… it’s probably a good thing I left when I did. Some of the boys are getting pretty wasted.” Cody grinned self-consciously. “Why give you one more story to embarrass me with?”

            “And why would I _ever_ want to embarrass you?”

            “I dunno, but if you ever did….” Cody chuckled.

            “I can think of a lot worse than when you were drunk,” Rex smirked. “Let’s see… how about our first year training together….”

            “Oh no,” Cody protested. “No, no, no, that’s different. See, I wasn’t a Commander back then. I didn’t have a reputation to uphold.”

            “You’re going to get a reputation as the Commander who skipped out on his own victory party if you don’t get back in there.” Rex shoved Cody back toward the door. “I think I’m gonna turn in for the night. See you in the morning?”

            “Bright and early,” Cody joked. “Honestly, I’ll probably be back before you fall asleep.”

            “Right,” Rex said skeptically. As Cody said goodbye and walked away smiling, Rex took a deep breath of cool night air and thought that maybe tonight he would finally sleep peacefully.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the time of writing this, there was only the vaguest of information about what the show writers planned to do with Echo or what the so-called Bad Batch was like, or the nature of their mission. The episodes have since been released at Star Wars Celebration, but these chapters are all based on those original preliminary hints, so they don't follow the canon of how these characters or mission developed. Hope you enjoy our take on Echo's return and the "Bad Batch"!

            The hyperdrive engines hummed around Rex as he and Sergeant Appo walked quickly down the hall. The ship was small, a modified Consular-class cruiser, probably worked on by the General himself. The moment Skywalker had told him to select a team of ten, Rex had known that this wasn’t a front-lines sort of mission, but the small size of the ship piqued his curiosity even more. Whatever they were about to dive into, it felt good to be in his armor again.

            They entered the rear salon pod, a room designed to be useful for mission planning and comfortable enough for long diplomatic discussions. General Skywalker was waiting for them in the front row of seats facing the hologram pad. He stood up and turned toward them when the door slid shut.

            “We’re on schedule for our rendezvous with the _Hurricane,_ ” the General said immediately. “As I’m sure you gathered from our rushed departure, the situation is urgent. Rex, how much have you heard about the navy’s little problem?”

            “Not much, sir. I heard some fleets were forced to retreat due to malfunctions.”

            “Pretty serious malfunctions,” Skywalker said, beckoning them both over to the hologram pad. “The kind that gets battle cruisers destroyed within seconds. And the problem is spreading fast. We’ve sent out a call for every ship in the navy to try powering up its weapons systems, and nearly twenty percent have already reported that when they tried, the system overloaded and their shields completely shut down.”

            Rex watched the tiny holographic Destroyers break up and explode under enemy fire, and thought of the hundreds of clones and other officers, perhaps even Jedi who met their end in the cold emptiness of space. The thought of dying in a vacuum had always felt particularly awful to him.

            “That’s number’s way too high to be a coincidence,” Appo said, also frowning at the naval battles Skywalker was replaying.

            Skywalker nodded and continued. “A special ops squad has been dispatched to the _Hurricane_ to isolate the problem and has already reported that a sophisticated computer virus is responsible for the malfunctions, probably planted at the main naval base on Anaxes. Who planted it, and how to get rid of it… that’s what we’re here to find out.”

            Skywalker straightened from his hunched position over the holographic display, and looked between them. “Now. Appo, you’re going to be my second in command. The Anaxsi military has a lead on a possible culprit; we'll be on an extraction mission.”

            “Yes, _sir!_ ” the Sergeant said.

            Rex glanced between Appo and Skywalker, wondering what his role was supposed to be, and trying to ignore the fear that Skywalker was relegating him to a minor role out of distrust in his abilities. After his forced leave, things had gotten as close to normal as they could be. He’d managed to stop dwelling on Fives’ dying words, and it was getting easier to sleep as time went on. But maybe the General still saw something lacking in his performance. Appo wasn’t one of the ten Rex had personally chosen for the mission, but it was the General’s right to add any extra forces he thought necessary.

             “As for you, Rex,” Skywalker said, turning to him with a tiny smirk. “You’ll be commanding the commando unit on Anaxes.”

            “Commandos, sir?” Relieved but confused, Rex raised his eyebrows at the General. “I’ve never heard of a captain taking charge of a commando unit.”

            “It _is_ a little unusual, isn’t it?” Skywalker looked pleased. “But you were specifically requested for this mission. Looks like you’ve got a reputation. Your job will be to lead Diode Squad in the removal of the virus.”

            “Yes, sir.” Rex felt like he was missing an important piece of information. This was a strange job to give him, and an even stranger one to hand to a squad of commandos. Trained squads were so few by now that those left were only sent on missions no other soldier or specialist could do.

            “I was under the impression that Anaxes is a loyal member of the Republic,” Appo said.

            “It is. Most of our best naval officers are from Anaxes, including Admiral Yularen.” Skywalker turned off the holographic display.

            “Sir, did they say why a commando squad was assigned to this mission?” Rex said. “A computer technician be more suited for this. And I don't know the first thing about removing a computer virus.”

            The General leaned back against the table. “They’re special, experimental commandos. They’ve been supplemented with some new hardware that makes it easier for them to communicate with computer systems.” Skywalker slowly clenched and uncurled his hand, watching it thoughtfully. “That’s all I know.”

            “You mean they’re part machine?” Appo asked uneasily. “That just doesn’t seem right.”

            Skywalker laughed. “Hey, you got a problem with my replacement parts, Sergeant? This hand isn’t flesh and blood, you know.” He waved his right hand carelessly.

            “No problem, sir,” Appo said immediately.

            “Commander Wolffe has a cybernetic eye, too, doesn’t he? I don’t see how this is much different.”

            “Sorry, General,” said Appo with a nervous smile. “I reacted without thinking. Guess I just hate to think of any clone being part clanker.”

            “I understand your reservations,” Skywalker said in good humor. “But these enhancements are obviously effective if these clones are the ones being asked to track down the virus. I’ll be curious to see how you get along with them, Rex.”

            “If they get the job done, I’ll have no complaints,” Rex said, although he didn’t like the idea of experimental cyborgs either. Getting replacements for limbs lost in battle was one thing, but purposely adding on mechanical bits and pieces to otherwise healthy clones felt like spitting on the whole idea that clones were at least superior to droids.

            “Good. I’ll have more details on your separate missions once we’ve met up with the squad. Dismissed.”

            Out in the hall, Rex saw Appo’s face relax.

            “This will be your first time working this closely with General Skywalker, won’t it?” Rex asked.

            “Heh. Wonder who we’re up against. Which do you think it is—a traitor, or a spy?”

            “I know which one I’d prefer,” Rex said simply. “But we have to be ready for anything. This can’t be allowed to slow down the other fleets, or all the other battles we’ve won in the Outer Rim will be meaningless.”

            “I’m not worried,” said Appo. “With you and Diode Squad, getting rid of that virus should be no problem, sir. And as for our suspect… well. General Skywalker and I will be sure to clean up _that_ mess.”

            Rex gave a wry smile at Appo’s confidence, but he knew the Sergeant had been through enough battles that it was more than just posturing. The General hadn’t made a bad choice for team leader.

            “With any luck,” Rex said, “I’ll finish up my end of the mission and join the rest of you in a few days.”

            Appo nodded. “And get there just in time to help us escort this criminal back to Coruscant.”

…

            The _Hurricane_ loomed monstrously before them, considerably larger than the planet Anaxes, glimmering a cool spectrum in the distance. Rex stood by General Skywalker in the cockpit and watched as they slowly came to a halt just outside its shuttle bay, like a fly hovering behind the ear of a great beast. Appo entered the cockpit and stopped just behind Rex.

            A squarish, ponytailed man materialized via hologram. “General Skywalker. Good of you to come.”

            “Admiral Seize,” Skywalker greeted him. “Sorry for being so cautious in my approach. I’m sure you understand.”

            “Of course. With nearly a quarter of our ships crippled, it would be foolish not to. I’ve been reassured that landing in our shuttle bay won’t pass the virus to your ship, but if you wish, we can arrange to send a small, unarmed transport to bring your Captain here.”

            “I think that’s a good idea,” Skywalker agreed. “As for me, I need to know where I'm supposed to find the one who planted this virus.”

            “I’ll let… one of our guests brief you on that,” said Admiral Seize, glancing away, presumably at whoever he was speaking of. “He no doubt has a better grasp of the details than I do.”

            Seize stepped out of the way, and an ARC trooper stepped in to take his place. He was bald, and his ears were covered with a large, prominent device which appeared to wrap around the back of his head. Rex couldn’t get a very clear look at it through the hologram, but his first thought was that it reminded him a little of the headsets young clones wore as they studied.

            “General Skywalker,” said the cyborg, expressionless in both face and voice. “You brought Captain Rex?”

            “I did.” Skywalker gave Rex a quick get-a-load-of-this-guy look as he came closer to the General, so that his image could be transmitted to the _Hurricane._ “And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

            “My designation is ARC trooper Zero-Four-Zero-Eight. Diode Squad is comprised of RC-Seven-Seven-Two-One, RC-Seven-Seven-Two-Two—”

            “Wait a minute,” Rex said, staring hard at the hologram. “I _know_ that number.”

            Skywalker held up a hand. “Why don’t you two do introductions later? You’ll have plenty of time to catch up once the Sergeant and I are underway. But right now, time’s wasting. Just tell me where I’m going, trooper.”

            “Yes, sir,” said the ARC trooper.

            Rex had opened his mouth to say the same, but couldn’t take his eyes off the hologram in front of him, trying to do the impossible and work out if he knew this clone who looked so different than last he’d seen the one that number belonged to. Echo was dead—they’d all seen him fall to that explosion, they’d all left him lying there on that landing pad in the Citadel, amid live fire from turrets and the clearing smoke of an exploded shuttle. There was no way this was Echo. But the number was the same.

            “Your destination is Skako Minor,” said ARC-0408, as if reading off a list. His voice was soft but rough, like he had a cough or sore throat. “Your objective is to locate one Erol Jaskes, a Verpine engineer. Although Skako Minor was colonized relatively recently, it has already become fairly populous for its size, and your presence as humans will be remarkable and possibly provoke hostility toward you. I have a great deal of information on the world and on Jaskes which I have already transmitted on a secure channel to your ship’s databanks. Please review it as soon as possible.”

            “Now just hold on a minute!” Skywalker frowned. “I didn’t give you permission to transmit anything to my ship. How do I know you haven’t just infected my systems with this virus?”

           “Impossible. I ran a thorough self-diagnostic before sending the data. I also condensed and revised it for you. For the sake of time, I left out the data which explains how I identified Verpine characteristics in the virus’s effects, but I will gladly send that as well if you need it.”

            Rex thought this ARC trooper didn’t look like he ever did anything “gladly”… or resentfully, or hesitantly, or with any feeling at all for that matter.

            “Jaskes quit his job as a diagnostician at the Anaxes naval base only a few days ago,” ARC-0408 continued, seeming oblivious to Skywalker’s exasperated look. “Evidence suggests he returned to Skako Minor, where his family lives. There are rumors he has ties to weapons smugglers and is probably armed and dangerous.”

            “Okay,” Skywalker said slowly, in a tone of forced politeness. “I’ll take a look at what you sent me.”

            “Very good, General. If you need any clarification or additional information, I’m sure Captain Rex will pass along the message. There should be no risk of transmitting the virus between private communicators.”

            Rex and Skywalker exchanged another quick look. Definitely not Echo, Rex thought uneasily. Running right over the General during a briefing was not part of his memories of the kid.

            “We will be sending a shuttle to pick him up right away. Any questions?”

            “I can think of a few,” Skywalker said half to himself. “But I’ll wait until after I’ve read the file. Does Admiral Seize have anything more to say?”

            “No,” said the ARC trooper, without so much as glancing away.

            “Guess I’ll take your word for it,” Skywalker said, and ended the transmission. “Think you can handle that guy’s attitude? Let’s hope the commandos take orders well.”

            “I’ll be fine, sir,” Rex said.

            “He wouldn’t be trusted with a mission of this magnitude if he couldn’t respect the chain of command,” said Appo.

            “Yeah. And there must be some reason he requested Rex specifically,” Skywalker said.

            “General,” Rex said. “That ARC trooper has the same designation as Echo did. I’ve never known the army to repeat designations before.”

            “Echo?” Skywalker looked at him blankly.

            “Yes, sir. He was killed on that landing pad during the Citadel mission.”

            “Right. I remember now.” The General’s brow furrowed. “That is pretty unusual. You’re sure it’s the same one?”

            “Yes, sir. Positive.” Rex wondered if, to non-clones, memorizing the numbers troopers were assigned was difficult. For him it seemed as natural as remembering names, regulations, coordinates, and any of the other information relevant to missions. “I never forget a man I’ve served with.”

            “Well, I’ll look into it if I have time, but for now, let’s just focus on the task at hand. You’d better get down to the airlock.”

            “Yes sir. Good luck on your mission. You too, Sergeant.”

            “Thank you, sir,” said Appo with a nod.  “And to you as well.”

…

            Minutes later, the tiny shuttle had docked. The airlock doors slid open and ARC-0408 stood on the other side.

            “Welcome aboard, Captain.” The scratchy sound of the trooper’s voice was even more noticeable in person.

            Rex said nothing as he walked inside. It was halfway between a larty and an escape pod, with a small open area behind the cockpit. Four commandos in black stealth armor stood silently in a line against the wall, helmeted and anonymous.

            “We’ll be taking a freighter to Anaxes immediately,” ARC-0408 said as soon as the shuttle was disengaged from the airlock. There was no one physically at the helm. “Diode Squad and I will then communicate with the primary computer system at the naval base and remove the virus.”

            “I have a few questions for you, _ARC-Zero-Four-Zero-Eight_ ,” Rex said, arms folded. “First of all, why did you request me to lead this mission? If it’s so simple for you five to remove this virus, why do you need someone like me with you?”

            “We are specially designed to handle the technical aspect of this mission,” the ARC trooper agreed. “But most people have difficulty working with Diode Squad. Their cybernetic enhancements make them fairly unresponsive to outside stimuli other than direct orders. I was sent to lead the group because I think more creatively than they do. But I recognize that my own modifications have made it more difficult for me to communicate with beings who aren’t computers.”

            “So… you need a normal clone to help you deal with normal people,” Rex said, glancing uneasily at the unresponsive commandos. “But you could have chosen any CO.”

            “I chose you because I’ve worked under you before, and personally witnessed your ability to handle any situation.”

            Rex’s skin crawled under his armor. “Right. You wouldn’t happen to have a name, would you?”

            “People used to call me Echo.” ARC-0408 said it in the same impassive tone. “But we are only referred to by number.”

            Rex stared at ARC-0408— _Echo—_ disturbed in a deep, fundamental way. This was impossible.

            “You died,” was all he managed to say.

            “I would have,” said Echo, “if I wasn’t chosen for this.” The shuttle settled down inside the _Hurricane_ ’s hangar and the ramp extended. Rex watched the commandos file out in step with one another, and Echo turned to follow them.

            Rex walked behind, staring at the device on Echo’s head. One of the lights blinked intermittently. How could this be the same clone who was best friends with Fives, so earnest and devoted? The old Echo would have been excited to see a familiar face after an entire year. But this Echo was cold and distant in a way Rex had rarely seen among his comrades. Perhaps he was putting on airs in front of the squad… maybe the device suppressed his emotions, or maybe—Rex’s gut clenched at the thought—he blamed Rex and the rest of his comrades for leaving him to die.

            Admiral Seize was waiting for them outside. “Captain Rex. A pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve had a light freighter prepared for your transport to Anaxes. Please feel free to inspect it yourself.”

            “Thank you, Admiral.” Rex saluted. “With any luck, we’ll have you and the rest of the navy up and running in no time.”

            “Carry on, then,” said the Admiral, glancing at Echo, and Rex got the distinct impression that the Admiral was glad to be rid of the ARC trooper. Echo and Diode Squad filed into the freighter, and Rex was about to follow when Seize put a hand on his shoulder.

            “Careful,” Seize said in a low voice, his eyes following the cybernetic-enhanced troopers as they entered the ship. “They call that squad the Bad Batch. I'm not sure what they mean by that. Watch your back.”

            Rex glanced away from Seize. “You think they're dangerous?”

            “I don't know. Keep an eye on them is all I'm saying. I know you're a good soldier, Captain. Your reputation precedes you.”

            “Thank you, sir,” Rex said. “I will keep that in mind. By your leave, sir.”

            The Admiral swept his arm toward the freighter and the two parted. Rex walked up the ramp and found the commandos had returned to their silent, statuesque positions. Rex stared at them for a few moments, then proceeded through the cabin and found Echo in the cockpit.

            “Quiet bunch, aren't they,” Rex said, trying to sound casual. “What were their names?”

            “They have no names. They never have. Numbers are all we need.” Echo said over the hum of the shuttle coming to life. “They’re not even separate people, really. The cybernetics merge their thoughts together.”

            “No,” Rex said under his breath, a trace of disgust coming into his voice. “We are _all_ individuals.”

            “Not all of us,” said Echo.

            “Then why do they even have individual numbers?”

            “The components of any mechanism have names so that they can be identified for repair or individual use,” Echo explained. “I’m aware of their numbers, and where each part of the unit is at all times.”

            “Does this thing keep you alive?” Rex gestured to the machine around Echo's head.

            “My brain was damaged as a result of the blast,” Echo said. His eyes unfocused as the ship departed from the shuttle bay. “Without it, my ability to process sensory input would be limited, and my movements would be severely uncoordinated. It also regulates my nervous system, circulation, and digestion.”

            “So in other words, it does most of what your brain used to do on its own.”

            “It helps.”

            Rex felt the disgust turn to anger, then stopped himself as he realized where that anger was directed. If the choice was between letting Echo die, and bringing him back as this shadow of his former self, he couldn’t really say which was better. But to do the same to undamaged clones….

            “What about the rest of them? Do they need this to survive?”

            “Removing the implants is not advised. They were physically altered during pre-adolescence to allow for optimal cooperation between the technology and their bodies.”

            “Why? What did they hope to achieve? And… who authorized this?”

            “The Kaminoans,” Echo said, “hoped that the implants would give this squad of commandos a greater advantage over the droid armies. They didn’t predict that there would be such a loss of independent thought. But with the right leadership, they can be utilized effectively against the enemy.”

            “Hmm.” Rex turned away from Echo and looked out the view screen, trying to stop dwelling on how much their very existence unnerved him. “What’s our ETA?”

            “Three minutes.”

            Rex watched the planet swallow the view screen and told himself that it was useless to try and reconcile this Echo with the one he’d known before. That one died on the operating table, and this one… this one probably wouldn’t even bat an eye if Rex told him that Fives was gone.

            For a moment, he almost blurted it out. But he didn’t want to see Echo’s blank-faced response. There had to be some other way to see just how much of him was left under that headset.

            “So,” Rex tried, “where have you been this past year?”

            “On Kamino,” Echo said, still with that unfocused look in his eyes. “It took a few months for my injuries to heal, and for me to get used to the implant.”

            “You don’t look too badly injured,” Rex noted, but suddenly realized Echo could be more droid parts than human ones underneath his modified ARC trooper armor.

            “It was mostly internal.” Echo didn’t elaborate.

            “And now they send you on special ops missions with these commandos?”

            “Sometimes.”

            “Sometimes?” Rex raised an eyebrow. “What about the rest of the time?”

            There was a two second pause as they hit the atmosphere, Echo staring off intently. “I work alone, or go in for tests on the equipment.”

            “Sounds… exciting,” Rex muttered.

            The freighter shook slightly against the atmosphere’s resistance. Clouds rushed up at them and flew away, revealing endless greens and blues intricately crisscrossed with the tan and silver of civilization. A few mountains shot off in sharp spears of white to the left. The freighter banked gently and circled down toward a particularly dense patch of the web, which grew in detail until Rex could make out nested levels of tall, interconnected buildings rising up the face of a hill. Then, just on the other side of the hill, the grey condensed even more into an enormous airfield, radiating out in strips from the main hub like colorless sun rays stretching over the land.

            It was so silent in the freighter while they circled the base that Rex jumped a little when Echo finally spoke again.

            “We are cleared for landing,” was all he said.

            “Do they know why we’re coming?” Rex asked.

            “Some of them.”

            The glimmering, sun-dappled city dropped out of sight as the freighter glided through one of the hatches in the hillside, and into the main terminal. Artificial lighting took the place of rays from Solis Axum. Rex saw officers and a few knots of troopers hurrying to and fro, the familiar harried order of a military establishment.

            “There’s our welcoming party,” he noted, as a group of naval officers approached the freighter across the enormous hangar’s floor.

            The door opened, but Echo didn’t move. The briefing was over, and it was time for Rex to take command.

            “Let’s go, boys.” Rex led the way out, and Echo and the Diode Squad followed without hesitation.

…

            “Captain Rex, I presume?” said the Admiral in front of the group. She was shorter than she looked—her confident gait, one hand on her hip as she halted, made her seem taller than she was, and her dark hair was pulled back in several braids.

            “Yes, Admiral.”

            “My name is Tanza Bet. Admiral Konneck and I are in charge of this base. Right this way.” Admiral Bet held her hand out as she began leading them toward a secure briefing room off the hanger. After both parties had finished funneling in, she stood at the holo console, though it remained dark. “I assume you’ve been briefed about our problem?” The Admiral leaned on the console with both hands, almost as if the gravity of the continuous fleet losses were threatening to take her down as well.

            “Yes, sir. My team is specially equipped to remove the virus, if you don’t mind giving us access to the central computer system for the base.”

            “If it was possible to remove the virus from here, I would be happy to grant you security clearance, but—”

            “Yes, those pass codes would be helpful,” Echo interrupted, staring off. “Either this virus built its own special firewall, or your station’s security system’s not bad. I can’t talk it into letting me through to the infected area.”

            Admiral Bet looked alarmed. Rex cleared his throat.

            “ _We_ wouldn’t want to try bypassing it without your authorization anyway, Admiral,” Rex said. Echo glanced at him and for the first time, Rex thought he saw something there: puzzlement followed by realization. But Echo said nothing; maybe Rex imagined it.

            “No… you wouldn’t,” Bet said severely, glancing at Echo with a mistrustful glint in her eye.

           “He’s….” Rex began, but didn’t want to excuse Echo’s behavior too much. “He’s responsive to direct orders, Admiral. He won’t touch those systems again until you give the word.”

            Bet's eyes flicked back to Rex and she nodded slightly. “It would be useless anyway. We’ve already determined that the virus is being hacked into the base’s system from an external source, elsewhere on the planet. You’ll probably have to manually remove or destroy whatever device is enabling it before it can be eliminated from the system. Captain, I must impress upon you the severity of this mission. For multiple reasons, it must be undertaken with the epitome of both skill and tact.”

            Bet illuminated the console and a webbed display of structures and connections bloomed to light. “This entire planet is monitored by a highly sophisticated computer network. It is part of the reason we are able to maintain a balance between our city structures and the natural environment and ecosystems in every part of Anaxes. Military facilities have tight security which keep them separate from the rest of the world’s network, as a safety measure. It is alarming, to say the least, that our hacker has managed to bypass the best measures our technicians could implement. But as you know, the virus exists in a nigh undetectable state of dormancy until triggered by the appropriate conditions.”

            “The virus is activated by the raw energy build up which occurs while a ship’s weapons system is preparing to fire,” Echo recited.

            “Correct,” Bet continued, “and there are many places around the planet that depend on ray shields such as those used by our ships,” Bet said, and the emitter began to display images and information on various high security operations. “Those same systems are connected to other environmental controls which use high-energy tools, similar to a ship’s weapons array. Perhaps you are beginning to see the larger danger present here. If those shields fail, soldiers will no longer be the only victims of this virus. There could be flooding, toxic waste contamination, or any number of other disasters right here on Anaxes. So far, there have been no accidents, and I would like to keep it that way.”

            “Understood, Admiral. We will proceed with all due care,” Rex said.

            “I'm glad to hear it, Captain. Is your squad is prepared for this task?”

            “We are the best men in the Republic for such a mission,” Echo said. “You stated that the virus is coming from an outside source. I recommend we begin tracing it immediately.”

            “We have already traced it within a few klicks. I shall pass this briefing to my associate, Admiral Konneck.” Bet stepped aside, and a man took her place at the console controls. He was a spindly older type, balding with salt and pepper sideburns. His face was neutral at the moment; Rex could imagine it being kindly just as well as coldly humorless, but Konneck gave no indication yet which he leaned toward more.

            “On behalf of the Republic Navy,” Konneck began, with his hands behind his back, “and the Anaxsi government, in addition to the skill and tact underscored by Admiral Bet, I must ask that this case be handled… discreetly. We would do well not to draw too much attention to certain details… in order to keep our political stability during these troubled times.”

            “Yes sir,” Rex said immediately, at a loss as to what he could mean.

            “The area where the virus is originating is unpopulated, according to public records... a former disaster area from many years ago.” Konneck drew up a display of what appeared to be a city. “But that’s not technically correct. There are no human inhabitants, but the city is still populated by sentient creatures.”

            “City?” Rex skimmed the data, taking in bits of information: environmental trauma; high radiation levels; unrecoverable; off limits to all civilians; high fines for trespassing within five klicks of the outermost containment fencing. “This disaster destroyed an entire city?”

            “Well, the infrastructure was mostly undamaged at the time, although I imagine it’s fallen into some disrepair since. It’s been like this for decades. For the most part, we’ve left it alone… you see, the surviving inhabitants are descended from the Mrlssi, who had joined joined us on this planet centuries ago due to a scientific partnership. To put it in extremely simplistic terms, most of them left the planet by choice when the naval families continued to rise in power, but a few elected to stay, and most of them never did much agree with our way of doing things. The ones still in Drann have resisted all our attempts to give them aid and refuge since the disaster, and are antagonistic toward the government.”

            Rex stared at the image of the birdlike creature that had appeared in place of the layout of Drann. This one appeared well dressed and manicured, with a fiery frill of feathers emitting from the back of its beaked head.

            “This doesn't match the data I have so far isolated about the structure of the virus,” Echo interjected. “This virus is Verpine in origin; there is no doubt in my mind. General Skywalker and Sergeant Appo have been deployed to capture the suspect: a Verpine, as would be expected.”

            “Indeed, it is possible our Verpine set up the virus and framed the Drann Mrlssi for his deed,” Bet said, “but we are not so sure of that. You must not underestimate the Mrlssi. They may look like animals, but they are cunning scientists. They have a motive for planting this virus and undermining the leadership our planet operates under. It could easily be they who have framed the Verpine. Nevertheless, we don’t want to accuse them while we lack proof. The public may take it the wrong way. It’s essential that you complete this mission without creating an incident.”

            “Are they hostile?” Rex asked.

            “These ones have been in the past,” said Konneck. “But this will be a mission of stealth. Stay out of sight, and _do not harm them_. While Drann is officially unoccupied, the Mrlssi do have connections to powerful political sympathizers.” Rex noticed Bet glance uneasily at Konneck. The politics of Anaxes were apparently more complicated than outsiders knew.

            “They’ll never even know we were there,” Rex said.

            “Very good,” said Bet. “We don’t know where in Drann the virus is being uploaded from; you’ll have to examine the signals coming from within the city once you are inside. We will give you a city map, but it may be out of date.”

            “Yes, sir. What about the radiation?”

            “Drann is still awash in radioactive particles. Seal your suits. That and your helmet's filters will protect you from exposure. If you remove your helmets, you will likely be contaminated. It may not be such a concern to you, given your position and lifespan, but still, best to avoid unnecessarily drama. Given that you are in fact still human, you will want to eat and use the facilities before entering the city, just in case this takes longer than expected.” 

            “Understood,” Rex said solemnly. He glanced at Echo and caught the ARC trooper staring at him. “We’ll move as quickly as the situation allows.”

            “Any further questions?”

            “No sir, nothing of special importance.”

            “Very good,” Bet said. “It’s just a short flight to the edge of the city. You can prepare and review the maps en route.”

            As they filed out of the office, Rex kept close step with Echo. “Got something to say?” he asked in an undertone.

            “I was going to point out that there’s no reason to suppose this mission will take very long. But then you said it, in fewer words.”

            Echo continued forward, but Rex noticed that his eyes weren’t as unfocused as before, and seemed to wander over things rather than staying fixed on a single point in space. Maybe in the absence of a link with the station, he had a little less to look at inside his own head.

…

            They were dropped off just on the inside of a tall electric fence. The fence marked the perimeter of the most intensely poisoned zone of the fallout area, and was guarded by a big yellow sign, large enough to be seen from two klicks away, labeled with the headers _DANGER, RADIOACTIVE CONTAMINATION, KEEP OUT_ and subtitled with catastrophe dates, a recently updated radioactivity survey report, and the mounting fines for trespassing. They were about three klicks northeast of the city. As they jumped down off the hovering transport, their boots met soft earth and a mat of lush plant life. It was going to be a bit of a hike in.

            “Not exactly what I was picturing,” Rex said            .

            Steadily they marched toward the setting sun, under a purple tangle of sirpar trees, and between gentle mounds of earth covered in speckled succulents and vines. As the sharp edge of Solis Axum slipped out of sight, everything became a washed out sea green under the light of the planet's single moon. The commandos scouted ahead at Rex’s orders, and from his place behind them, the dull black bulk of their stealth armor slipped in and out of view like a hallucination.

            The land was totally still apart from the occasional flit or chirp of an insect.

            “City limits half a klick ahead,” Echo said after half an hour of marching had passed.

            Rex could see the tops of a few buildings over the crest of a little hill, like blackened teeth. He signaled for everyone to stay low, and together they crawled to the top of the rise and looked down into the shallow valley with their binoculars.

            It was a city, alright. The buildings, averaging about ten stories, were close together, and Rex couldn't make out much detail past the outer layer. The layout would be good for staying hidden, but the limited vision would go both ways. About halfway around the western edge, the ill-fated reactor loomed, a giant corroding red and grey monument to disaster. The buildings were similarly weather-beaten and aged, many with broken windows, plants pulling their way up the walls. It was hard to imagine anyone lived here, and even harder to imagine they did so willingly.

            “I’m not seeing any movement,” Rex murmured. “Anyone else?”

            “Negative,” said Echo. “But I’m picking up several computer signals. The city is more technologically active than I expected. This will slow us down.”

            “Great. Any clue which one it might be?”

            “No. We’ll start with the nearest one.” Echo pointed slightly to the left. “With your permission, Captain.”

            “Stay low. Diode Squad, scout ahead. We'll follow.”

            The commandos half-crawled down the hill, and Rex was struck with how normal this felt, even though he knew the men he was working with were far from normal. During a mission like this, there was never a lot of chatter anyway. He’d almost caught himself admiring the way the commandos moved in tandem before he remembered that they had little choice in the matter. When the squad had made a significant lead, Rex motioned to Echo that they were to proceed, and they began their own crouched descent.

            Echo flung out an arm and Rex nearly collided with it. Everyone dropped to the ground.

            “What is it?” Rex breathed after a moment.

            “Seven-Seven-Two-Four saw something.”

            Rex waited with only the sound of his own breathing in his ear.

            “Keffi,” Echo finally said. “False alarm. Seems wild.”

            “Careful,” Rex said quietly. “Could be part of a domesticated herd. Nobody said the locals don’t have pets.”

            “Copy that.” Echo said. “Holding position. Seven-Seven-Two-Four scouting further ahead.”

            Rex watched as one of the shadows moved toward an abandoned speeder propped against a crumbling wall. After a moment, a thick-maned Keffi came into view, turning its horned head and staring straight at them before it ducked to snuffle in the thinning foliage.

            “There aren’t any others within visual range,” Echo confirmed.

            7724 moved from the speeder, and the Keffi loped away, startled by his sudden movement but seeming unconcerned.

            They waited once more as the commandos proceeded again toward the edge of the first buildings. Rex watched a small flock of flying creatures erupt from the path of the commandos and swoop some distance beyond his vision.

            “How does anything live out here?” Rex breathed. “The animals and the Mrlssi... they should all be dead.”

            “Perhaps the contamination levels have been exaggerated. Or they've adapted.”

            “If the city was recoverable, the Anaxsi would have reclaimed it,” Rex said.

            “Maybe,” Echo shrugged. “Maybe they don't want to.”

            “Do you think the Mrlssi really stay here by choice?”

            “They’ve reached the city’s edge,” Echo said. “The route is secure.”

            A few minutes later, Rex and Echo joined two of the commandos in an alley. Public lights were on throughout the city, though it did little to lighten the atmosphere. The working ones created only a dim patchwork of illumination, continuously punctured in spots by flickering or a resonant quiver.

            Rex waited for Echo to give some indication of their next move, acutely aware of how his and Echo's white armor stood out.

            Echo signaled down the alley and they began a swift approach from one door alcove to the next, one commando in front, another behind. They held weapons aloft in a defensive position. Rex tapped Echo on the shoulder and motioned for the commandos to put away their weapons. They immediately holstered their weapons without even the faintest of external commands from Echo. Rex was starting to understand how he and Diode Squad worked as a single unit, each soldier a limb for the ARC trooper to direct with merely a thought of action.

            Rex took a step forward and Echo grabbed his arm. _Enemy,_ he signed, and pointed toward a staircase and upward.

            “Where's the signal?” Rex whispered.

            Echo pointed above the staircase. So someone was inside where they needed to go. That would make things difficult, but it was not altogether surprising.

            Echo led the way toward a metal ladder on a neighboring facade. There were archways spanning between the buildings. One of their two commandos started climbing the ladder, and Echo kept his hand on Rex's shoulder to keep him from following. The trooper slipped out of sight and soon, Rex was being gently pushed to follow.

            They climbed two levels before stopping on a platform. A catwalk over a small alley connected their building to the one where the computer signal was emanating from. As they crossed the bridge, Rex saw light coming from behind heavy curtains in a third story window across the street. Rex could just make out the feathery semi-humanoid form of a Mrlssi as it passed the gap between the curtains. A light from inside flashed and changed irregularly—Rex wondered if they got holonet channels here.

            “Something behind this wall is jacked into a larger network,” Echo whispered. “But I can’t tell yet if it’s our virus.”

            “Is anyone on this floor?”

            “Can't say for certain. Squad's got the perimeter.”

            Rex realized only one commando was still with them. The second had broken off and was nowhere to be seen. The street below them appeared completely devoid of life.

            _Moving in_ , Echo signaled, and the three of them moved forward toward a dark window facing out toward the street. The commando was melting the seal on the window within seconds, then he and Echo pulled the window out and leaned it lightly against the railing of the platform. The commando stepped onto the sill and disappeared completely into the blackness while Rex and Echo knelt beneath it outside in a patch of shadow.

            The Mrlssi opposite passed the window again. Rex wondered how populated the city was. Did the creatures live alone or congregate together? Perhaps this single occupant was an outlier, and the rest were concentrated near the center of the city. Rex could barely think of a worse fate than languishing in a solitary existence, with no sentient interaction beyond the news of distant stars coming in through the holonet. He nearly shuddered.

            “It's not it,” Echo whispered.

            “What is it?”

            Echo shook his head. “Small comm. Someone's private window to the outside world. More than _that_ is,” he said, nodding his head toward the Mrlssi inhabitant across the street. “We should destroy it.”

            “Destroy it?” Rex turned toward the window their commando had disappeared into.

            “Of course. They are communicating with someone. Could be dangerous. There is supposed to be no outbound access due to the political situation.”

            Rex sighed. “What if they're just talking to family, friends? Seems wrong to cut them off. They're already cut off.”

            “What are your orders, Captain?” Echo asked.

            Rex looked up to the sky; the moon was gone and clouds had moved in. Echo was right, of course. “Destroy it,” he sighed.

            Echo nodded, and after a minute, the commando returned from the inside and joined them on the platform.

            “We're not here to hunt down all outbound communication. Once we find the source of the virus and eliminate it, the mission is complete and we're turning back, whether there are other signals around or not.”

            “You are correct, Captain, that is the mission objective.”

            “Let's continue,” Rex said. “Are you reading another signal?”

            “Yes. Several toward the center. Two klicks.”

            “Let’s regroup one block south.”

            They met up with the rest of the commandos at the mouth of another alley, just beside what had once been a museum. There were some token signs of repair on the front of the edifice: holes patched over with bolted-on sheets of scrap metal, the sagging awning braced by mismatched poles. Someone had scrubbed half the rust off the plaque that had first given Rex an idea of what the building was, and some of the vines on the east side of the building had been clipped. But these efforts only served to make the building look even more pathetic, as if only one person had cared to save it and had disappeared before that care ever made a difference.

            “We’ve been in the fallout zone a little over an hour,” Echo said.

            “We're making good time,” said Rex. “Two klicks. That will take at least twenty minutes. Are you reading any others beyond this one?”

            “I tried to spread my search radius through the comm. unit, and I detected a few other areas getting data out of the city. But I didn’t see any evidence of the virus there. It doesn’t seem designed to travel on those channels.”

            “So we at least eliminate those from the possibilities—” Rex turned his head at a soft rushing sound, glimpsed the odd texture rippling across the street’s surface, and half a moment later rain began pinging hard against his armor and spattering his visor. “—that's what you're saying?”

            “With reasonable certainty, yes. The ones two klicks away are the clearest choice for our hacker.” Echo called up the map on his holo device and tapped the spot in question. “The signals are congregated together, about there, I think.”

            “We’d better get moving. Stay on your toes—we’ve got lower visibility, and it’ll be harder to hear anyone sneaking up on us now.”

            Their two scouts parted from the group once more, and after a few moments, they had completely disappeared.

            The rest of them jogged in fits and starts, making quick dashes across cracked pavement to the beat of intermittent gestures of _all clear_ from Echo as recon came back. Rex never saw the scouting commandos—they were too good at staying hidden.

            At one intersection, Echo pressed Rex against the wall with him as a Mrlssi strutted slowly through the rainy streets, ruffling its feathers and half saying, half singing something in the whistling, warbling tones of its native tongue. It swung a cane from one clawed hand, the fringe of feathers on the back of its scaly head quite large and colorful, but diminished in appearance by its overall patchiness. The old Mrlssi never even glanced in their direction before passing on down the street toward a corner where two others emerged and sang brief greetings. The view of it was warped slightly by all the water on Rex’s visor, every drop that struck momentarily smudging the image this way or that. Somehow, Rex couldn't help but feel a sense of relief at the sight.

            Echo’s chest rose and fell in the corner of his eye, and that sigh looked so human, waiting for the Mrlssi to clear out, that Rex again felt the dissonance of the present and the past and wondered if Echo was just pretending… if this was his version of growing up, becoming a better soldier. He’d taken what was handed to him, as they all did, but he didn’t seem to feel happy, or angry, or tense, or _any_ of the myriad small emotions that made Rex feel alive. He simply existed now, and Rex wondered if that was the end of Echo's story, if every moment for the rest of his life would be the monotony of mere existence. And of course, even if it was, Echo wouldn't have the sensibility to view that as a loss.


	8. Chapter 8

            The rain was falling hard on the streets, and visibility had become extremely limited. Rex, Echo, and their two commandos had ducked into what had clearly once been a restaurant, but was now little more than a heap of chairs and tables in disarray. Their wet boots made shining prints in the layer of dust on the floor. The dust was coating everything—the area had not been used or even entered for a very long time.

            They stood in the shadows near the entryway, dripping, waiting for some recon from their two scouts.

            “The signals are coming from within a large complex,” Echo said, breaking the silence. “Parts of the complex appear to be heavily populated.”

            “Is there a back door?” Rex asked.

            “There are several former entrances, but it would be necessary to force entry on most of them. They have been permanently sealed. The main entryway is large. There are a number of Mrlssi within sight.”

            “You said we would have to force entry on most, but not all. Is there any other entrance?”

            “On the east side,” Echo said. “A single door. The entry itself seems unused, but the street is a small thoroughfare.”

            “What's the purpose of the complex?”

            “It does not seem to be housing. They appear to be socializing. Some Mrlssi are carrying goods in and others are leaving in small groups. Recommend holding position until they have cleared out.”

            Rex swallowed. The hour was growing late. He hoped the Mrlssi had a habit of retiring early, or else they were going to be waiting in this dim room well into the night.

            “Noted. We'll hold position here. Keep your men on watch. If we're lucky, the rain will also let up by the time we move out. At ease, everyone.”

            Neither Echo nor the two commandos appeared to relax at all, but Rex pulled up a chair against the wall by the door and sat.

            “Sit,” Rex said, and the three immediately sat themselves down in nearby chairs. Rex breathed a sigh and tried to relax. The mission was all going according to plan. This was only a minor delay. He didn't understand why he was so tense; he had had blaster bolts flying at him for all of his adult life. This was a simple, even safe, mission in comparison, despite mandatory success being a constant pressure. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.

            Minutes passed with no sound but the _shh_ of the pouring rain and his increasingly calm breathing. He glanced at Echo and the commandos, sitting still and silent like dead men propped up in chairs, and his stomach tightened. It was Echo. It was the so-called Bad Batch. It was this place. They were all part of the grand design of the leaders of the Republic, but it all still made Rex feel uneasy. Perhaps that was _why_ it made Rex uneasy.

            “Echo,” Rex said.

            Echo turned his head. “Captain.”

            “Do you... how much do you remember? From before?”

            “Before the modifications?”

            “Yes....”

            “I don't remember the blast. I awoke in the med lab on Kamino. I was on life support and in a great deal of pain.” Echo's voice, ever low and hoarse, betrayed no emotion at recalling this memory. “I felt trapped in my body, as I couldn't talk in a way that could be understood, and I couldn't hear what was being said to me. I couldn't think clearly, possibly due to pain-relieving drugs in my system. It wasn't until later that I was informed about what had happened. The only thing I knew at the time was that I was dying.”

            “They did save your life, then,” Rex said.

            “I'm certain of it.”

            Rex sighed. “But what about before the blast? Your life before? You do remember. You remembered who I was.”

            “You're correct,” Echo said. “I can't remember the mission. But yes, I do remember my life before.”

            “And you remember your friends? Your brothers?”

            “Of course, Captain.”

            Rex frowned to himself, wondering if he should really ask. “Do you... ever miss them?”

            “No,” Echo said, and Rex was suddenly revisited by the pain of Fives dying in his arms, afraid and betrayed.

            Echo really wouldn't care. Rex clenched his fist and was almost relieved that Fives would never know the mockery that had been made of his friend.

            “Do you think of them? At all? Don't you care about them?”

            “Captain, understand that it has nothing to do with me anymore. We are soldiers. The mission is the only thing that matters.”

            “And what is the mission?” Rex growled.

            “The mission is to do whatever is commanded of us.”

            “Good soldiers follow orders.”

            “Yes, Captain. As soldiers, we don't need friends. Only allies. Command tells us who our allies are, and together, we complete the mission.”

            “What if they were wrong? What if they told you to fire on your allies? On your brothers, on the Jedi?”

            “If they were wrong, how would we know?” Echo seemed completely unconcerned by this conversation, which was just as well: He was unlikely to ever repeat it. Rex, on the other hand, felt hot and on the edge of shaking from some combination of anger and fear, feelings he had tried so hard to put behind him for the sake of returning to duty.

            “You would know it in your heart,” Rex said, his voice low and rough from trying to suppress his emotions. “You still have one, don't you? A human heart? That's what separates us from _them_. Sometimes, you have to make your own choices.”

            “That's treason,” he said simply.

            “That's _experience_.”

            They sat stiffly in their chairs, no longer facing each other. Rex stared hard out the doorway into the sheet of rain. His heart was racing—he had to calm down. This wasn't the time or place to lose his focus. He had promised the General that he was fit to return to command and now he had to prove it. He might not get another chance. The war was running down to the wire, and they couldn't afford to have incapable soldiers in command positions. Right now, at this moment, brothers across the Republic were counting on him to lead this mission, to kill this virus so they could safely dispatch to the front, or at least, have a better chance of safely returning from it. This conversation was not important right now. Rex took a deep breath.

            Echo was right about one thing: Sometimes you had to leave feelings behind.

            Eventually, Rex's tenseness wore off as the better part of an hour crawled by without interaction. Head against the wall, Rex continued to stare listlessly into the rain, which against his wishes had made no effort to let up. It was almost nostalgic.

            “Entry clear. Recommend cautious approach to east entrance,” Echo said, jerking Rex out of his daze.

            He stood, stretched slightly, and said, “Let's finish this.”

            One of their commandos slipped out of the entryway, and within a minute, Echo was gently pressing Rex forward.

            Rex could hear the musical voices of the Mrlssi echoing in the streets, but Echo was guiding them down alleyways that were barely wide enough to pass through in their armor. Many were heaped with debris that made progress slick, cumbersome, and slow. But the important thing was that the alleys were empty of residents, and so their approach continued unnoticed.

            They stopped just inside the intersection of their alley and the larger street between them and the complex.

            “All clear,” Echo whispered, and pointed toward an alcove on the side of the large building, presumably where the back door was. They dashed across the street, then sidled along the rough walls of the building. Rex ducked into the alcove and was soon joined in the tight space by Echo and their two members of Diode Squad.

            “Where are the others?” Rex asked.

            Echo lifted one finger and looked upward. Rex followed his line of sight, three stories up on the opposite side of the street. He couldn't see anything but the dripping rails and grating of another metal catwalk.

            Rex nodded to Echo. The commando would keep watch on their exit route.

            “The other is inside.”

            “What's on the other side of this door?” Rex said.

            “A store room,” Echo replied. “Unused.”

             Rex slowly pushed the heavy door, glad that their scout had already done the business of getting it to open. The room was small and dark, with only the dim light of a lamp across the street falling behind them. Their shadows fell long onto a worktable cluttered with machinery parts, all coated with the same sheen of dust seen in the restaurant. More debris was strewn on counters lining the wall and jammed in stacked bins on the floor. Rex noticed the wet footprints where their scout had first disturbed the dusty layer, and the prints disappeared beyond another door opposite. Rex shut the door and the hammering splash of the rain faded instantly to a dull static. He turned on his headlamps.

            “Nothing we can do about that,” Rex said, gesturing to the prints.

            “It doesn't seem like anyone will look. No one has been in here for years.”

            Rex picked up a bin of rags and reached under the top layer for the cleaner ones underneath. “Wipe down. Feet too. We don't want to leave even more of a trail.”

            It was a bit of a struggle to clear the bulk of the water off their armor, and the dirty rags left large streaks. Rex tossed his unceremoniously aside after they were no longer dripping and the soles of their shoes were essentially dry.

            “How's the way look like? Do we know where we're going?” Rex asked. He was finally starting to feel the focus of his best self. They were nearing their target.

            “We've got a bug picking up visuals for us. The computer signals are coming from deep within the complex. We'll have to take it slow and steady. Recommend us four stay together. There are still Mrlssi in the building, though their numbers have diminished. The complex is dimly lit past this door.”

            “Proceed,” Rex said, turning off his headlamps.

            One of the commandos opened the inside door and a pale electric light fell into the room. He peered cautiously around the doorway, then side-stepped out. The three followed and they all stalked single-file down a narrow hallway with a sagging ceiling, and up a cracked flight of stairs. The door here was open. Another pause, and then they slipped one by one past another door jammed in a half-closed position, getting a glimpse of one battered Mrlssi roosting in a corner, slumped against the wall. Rex again wondered how the radiation affected the birds.

            They found themselves in a dark room with a heavy metal door on the opposite end. They stepped cautiously around a pile of rags and feathers that seemed to be the desiccated remains of one of the inhabitants. Rex caught a movement to the left of his vision and snapped up his pistol. The commando stopped and put one hand up. It was their scout.

            “Once we're on the other side,” Echo said, “we'll send the bug out again. It will stay ahead of us.” The commando opened his other hand and Rex saw he was holding a small droid, two inches in length and flat, with small lenses protruding from its front and rear.

            “Let's go,” Rex said, holstering his pistol. Echo turned toward the door, and after a few seconds of communicating with the door controls, it hissed and opened with a deep mechanical groan.

            The Mrlssi remains stirred, and a whining whistle came from it like a yawn. Rex jumped to a defensive position and watched a commando throw a dirty blanket over the pile. Then they rushed into a small brightly lit compartment on the other side of the door. It clamped shut with a muffled bang the moment Echo pressed the keypad.

            “Think it’ll follow us?” Rex asked.

            “The door won’t open right away even if they do know the entry code,” Echo said, not bothering to whisper. “This is a decontamination unit.”

            There was a drawer to the right side of a glass door, some kind of clothing receptacle. Evidently they were in the changing area. Echo opened the door into the main chamber, roughly the size of a gunship passenger compartment, and attempted to continue through the next glass door. It wouldn't budge.

            They waited uncertainly for a few moments. The lights were harsh after the dimness of the outside. Suddenly an opaque white liquid shot from four square shower heads fixed into the ceiling, drenching them once more. It also doused the changing areas on either side. Suddenly the liquid turned clear. Seemed like a rinse.

            “Great,” Rex said. But then the liquid ceased and after a few final drips, air pumps in the walls blasted them with gale force winds, accompanied by a high pitched resonant ringing just on the edge of Rex's hearing. When the air stopped, Rex found he was reasonably dry.

            “Squeaky clean,” Rex said. “But why? What is it decontaminating us from?”

            “I don't know,” Echo said. “There must be a lab here.”

            “Or at least, there _was_ a lab,” Rex added. “Still, seems a bit lively suddenly. Wonder how long that fluid's been sitting in the system.”

            They filed out through the glass door into the next changing area.

            “Don't suppose we can count on the radiation levels being safe in here, after something like that?”

            “It _would_ effectively remove radioactive particulates,” Echo said, “but there could very well be a breach elsewhere in the lab. Besides, we don't know whether the unit is meant to keep things from coming in, or something else from getting out.”

            “Are you still picking up the signals?”

            “Yes. They must be coming from the facility's old computer system.”

            The scout cautiously opened the chamber door and stuck their droid to the wall in the hallway beyond. It scuttled to the dark ceiling and onward.

            After a few moments, Echo said, “Clear for the next fifty meters.”

            The filth of the outside was absent from this side of the unit. It was spotlessly clean. “I wonder if the Mrlssi come here at all,” Rex said.

            “We must assume the inner facility is occupied. We don't know how many other entry points there are.”

            They started down the hall. Rex couldn't help but notice the posters along the wall, fresh, almost new looking. They listed biosafety procedures, emergency contact lines, evacuation plans.  

            “Echo—” Rex swallowed his comment as Echo's hand shot up.

            “Twenty-five meters ahead, we will be on a mezzanine. We'll be standing above a command center.”

            “Command center? This doesn't seem like a scientific facility. Looks military to me,” Rex said, glancing at a notice on the wall undersigned by Chancellor Kalpana and some former head of the Anaxsi Government.

            “Often one and the same, Captain. It doesn't matter to us.”

            The notice was a firm reminder to the employees that all research remain confidential for the safety of the Republic. Rex wondered who the enemy was back then. Was there one? He suddenly realized that he had never considered the nature of the armed forces of the Republic before they had clone troopers. It was hard to imagine a large functional army made up merely of trained civilians.

            “Mrlssi sighted,” Echo said, his voice a husky whisper. “When we reach the mezzanine, stay low and away from the railing. Looks like we've got some camping out.”

            “Isn't the computer terminal down there?” Rex whispered back.

            Echo shook his head, and beckoned that they move more quickly.

            They reached the mezzanine. The area was surprisingly dark, and although Rex could not look over the edge of the railing, it wasn't hard to imagine the scene below. He could hear the gentle trilling of the birds in soft conversation. A glow emanated from where the Mrlssi were, and he wondered at its source.

            They crept low against the curved wall until they reached the door on their left and slipped inside. They found themselves inside a small presentation room, mercifully empty. There were familiarly labeled boxes stacked against one wall. Dry rations.

            “We’re getting closer.” Echo glanced around at the empty amphitheater-style seating.

            “ _How_ close?”

            “There’s one transmitting from….” Echo lifted a hand to touch his helmet on the right side, over his ear. “Alright. I’ve got it. And I've tapped into the local security system. The doors in that sector have been activated five times in the last hour. It’ll be difficult not to run into anyone.” He paused.

            “We have to draw them away somehow.” Rex stared around the dark room, thinking. “Otherwise we’ll have to wait until they’re all asleep.”

            “I’ve found access to an airborne toxin alarm. I could trigger it from a lab near the computer terminal.”

            “I wonder if they'll buy it.”

            “They only need to believe it long enough for us to do our job.”

            “Let’s do it,” Rex said.

            An earsplitting keening came from the hallway outside, followed by an automated voice saying, “WARNING. YG32 DETECTED IN HALL A9. EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY VIA DECON UNIT 8. REPEAT—” Between the words and the shrill Mrlssi translation, there was a faint scrabble of noise that Rex hoped was the sound of many clawed feet following instructions.

            “They've left the immediate area,” Echo said.

            “We better do this quickly,” Rex said. “Lead the way.”

            Echo rushed forward and down the stairs onto the command floor, Rex and the Squad on his heels. The Mrlssi didn't appear to have been camping out at all; there was no evidence of bedding or other personal artifacts. The glowing he had seen had been holo units, though blank images were now floating nondescriptly above the consoles.

            Echo led them through another door off the command floor which entered into yet another hallway. This time, the doors on either side very clearly opened into high security laboratories. The doors each had labels listing project names and security levels required for entrance. Echo stopped suddenly just before a corner, then backed up. Dashing to the nearest door, he quickly overrode the keypad and herded the rest inside just before two Mrlssi rounded the corner. Through the small window in the door, Rex could see that one was dragging the other, and they seemed to be arguing. They both appeared well-groomed.

            “Captain,” Echo said quietly. Rex turned and realized they were standing in the antechamber of a living lab. Through another glass door, the darkened lab glowed with life and intent. There was a collection of computer terminals on standby, their blue lights gently illuminating tools and materials that had recently been in the hands of a chemist.

            “This isn't right,” Rex breathed.

            “There are no more Mrlssi between here and the first terminal that may be transmitting the virus,” Echo said. “We should proceed.”

            Rex swallowed, distinctly aware that although their mission had not changed, the circumstances certainly had. They weren't in a disaster zone.

            He followed Echo out of the lab and caught other signs of life through the windows into the other chambers. His insides felt awash with the first tendrils of anxiety born from witnessing yet another deception. The question was, who among the possibilities was responsible, and who was being deceived?

            “It’s coming from here, alright,” Echo murmured as they entered a surprisingly cluttered storage room. He stared down at the large console jammed in between recording equipment and other visual displays. The console appeared dead. “I can see it transmitting. It made its way through an old industrial sensor grid. But the actual program that’s reproducing it is heavily encrypted and only accessible through this terminal’s local network. Let me just see if we can bypass the encryption.”

            One of their commandos crouched just in front of the console and removed a small device from the box at his waist. It was roughly an inch long and blinked slowly with a small red light. The commando slotted it into an unmarked compartment near the base of the console.

            “Beginning decryption.”

             Echo and the one commando stood still. The other two stood near the doorway, though Rex was certain that their little bug was feeding them plenty information about what was going on outside. Rex himself felt a bit useless standing there. He still wasn't quite sure why Echo had requested his presence on this mission; it wasn't out of sentimentality, that was for sure. So far he had done little more than been pushed forward and directed by Echo, and really, on a stealth mission of this kind, how could he compete with a five member unit of telepaths?

            He sighed quietly to himself, wishing that he at least had some idea of how long this might take.

            “He’s cut off.” The commando who was standing at the console turned toward Rex, and he realized this was the first time he had heard one of them speak. He sounded young.

             “What? What do you mean?”

            The commando turned his head toward Echo. “I'm not in communication with him anymore.”

            “Echo,” Rex said, putting his hand on the trooper's shoulder.

            Echo didn’t move or give any indication that he’d heard Rex speak at all.

            Rex shook him slightly, but he could immediately sense the futility of it. He glanced over his shoulder at the commando who had spoken. “Did the security system kick him out?”

            “I'm not sure,” he said. “I can only access the most rudimentary processes of his implant now. Awaiting orders, sir.”

            “Echo!” Rex waved a hand in front of his visor. No response. He reached up and pulled Echo’s helmet off, hearing the hiss of the broken seal. Echo’s eyes were wide, his face blank, like a mannequin.

            “Sir!” the commando cried, with a surprising amount of feeling. “We were instructed not to unseal our suits or else face radiation poisoning!”

           “It's alright, kid,” Rex said. “I don't think there is any radiation. At least not in here.” Rex felt strangely calm. He smacked Echo's cheek lightly. Echo’s head jerked the tiniest fraction, but his eyes never moved. “Look at me, Echo. That’s an order.”

            Echo's pupils dilated to a feral wideness, but there was no other indication that his words had made it through to him. Rex knew what this looked like. But it couldn't be. It wasn't the same. Rex's calm was threatened to be punctured by the memories of Ringo Vinda, and the effort it took to keep himself from chasing those memories vibrated through his body, pulsed in his head. But he knew this had to be different—Echo was different, he was a cyborg, and something must have gone wrong with the wiring in his second brain.

              He put his hands on Echo’s chest and shoved, but the ARC trooper just stepped backward mechanically, unthinkingly correcting his balance.

            “What's your name?” Rex asked the commando.

            “RC-Seven-Seven-Two-Two,” he replied.

            “I'm going to call you Twenty-two. Sure you'll catch on. What’s the last thing you remember sensing? Did you get through the encryption?” The more Rex tried to take charge of the situation, the better he would be able to ignore the images flashing in his mind.

            “Yes, sir. The connection was broken in the same moment.”

            “Is he infected? _”_ Rex murmured, feeling again a pang of fear deep in his gut.

            “I don’t know, sir. It’s possible. Maybe he shut down the connection on his own, to prevent it from spreading.”

            “What about you? Did it kick you out? You're fine, aren't you?”

            “I am fine,” he said. “I disconnected when ARC-Zero-Four-Zero-Eight unexpectedly vanished.”

            “Get back into that system,” Rex commanded. He still didn't know whether it was safe, but dismantling this virus took precedence over Echo's... malfunction.

            “Yes, sir,” Twenty-two said, and he knelt once more before the console. There were a few agonizing minutes of silence where there was no sound but that of Rex's own breathing in his ears, heavier than it should have been. He could feel it: the situation was slipping out of his control. They didn't have the right intel for the mission. He closed his eyes. Adapting to new situations was a quality necessary for leadership, and after years with Skywalker, it had become easier.

            But Rex was having a hard time thinking. He couldn't clear his head. They were in the middle of what appeared to be a massive biochemical engineering project, one that was most certainly off the books. Rex didn't want to think about the implications of the decontamination units attached to the lab, but it was impossible not to.

            Biochemical weapons.

            What possible use could bio-weaponry be against an army of droids?

            And as he thought, images of the war, everything he had been fighting for, everyone he had lost, everyone he was afraid of losing, it all fell into his vision like the vivid nightmares he was all too acquainted with. So much death on both sides, real living breathing people. They weren't always killing clankers, and the deaths were not always quick.

            Rex didn't want to doubt the Republic. He couldn't. If he did, he would lose everything. His time on leave was enough to show him that if he continued down the path of skepticism, his life would fall to pieces, and he didn't know that there would be anything left of him after everything he had grown up believing in had been stripped away.

            “Sir,” someone said, and Rex's eyes flew open. It was Twenty-two, and his hand was on Rex's arm. “This isn't it,” he said.

            “What?” Rex said, his voice suddenly filled with uncertainty. “Isn't what?”

            “This isn't the terminal.”

            “What do you mean? It has to be.” Rex shook his head. “What about Echo?”

            “This terminal is a decoy,” he said. “There are other signals just as ARC-Zero-Four-Zero-Eight said, but there is no way of being certain which is the real point of transmission, if any of them are.”

            “Can you continue on with this mission without Echo?” Rex put a hand on his own chest and sat down on a crate.

            “We could attempt it, but ARC—”

            “Echo,” Rex said. “His name is Echo.”

            Twenty-two hesitated. “...Echo... has functioned as the head of our unit since our deployment.”

            “You're trained, aren't you? What use are you if you can't operate solo? _What exactly were you created for?_ ”

            Twenty-two seemed to slump slightly. Rex suddenly felt stifled in his armor and had a nearly uncontrollable need to rip it off. He felt like it was crushing his chest, suffocating him. He wondered if his air filters had stopped functioning.

            “We were created to operate as one intelligent field unit but—”

            “I can't breathe,” Rex said, interrupting Twenty-two's meager attempt to answer Rex's rhetorical question. He pulled off his helmet and was shocked by the chill in the air.

            “Sir!” Twenty-two said. “You don't look well.”

            “How would you know?” Rex gasped out. “Are you a medic? Let me get a look at you.”

            “Sir...?”

            “You are human, aren't you? Not a _clanker?_ Show me your face!”

            Twenty-two stood for a moment without moving, but then unsealed the commando helmet from his black suit and took it off.

          Rex glanced at him, then exhaled and looked away, putting his hand against his forehead. “You're just a kid,” he mumbled. He realized he had already known. As soon as he heard that voice, unsteady with the strain of having recently changed to the one he and all his adult brothers shared, he had known. “How old are you, _seven?!_ ”

            “Yes, sir....” Twenty-two's face was soft and unlined. He was the standard height of an adult clone, but his face had not entirely leaned out. He wore a similar, though smaller, headset to the one Echo had, but unlike Echo, still had a standard military haircut. Rex suspected that the kid barely filled out that armor. He looked to the other commandos and knew they were just the same, sent off from Kamino hidden inside suits that appeared much stronger and more mature than they were.

            The truth was that Rex could hardly muster surprise. He knew this day was coming. No one talked about it, but everyone noticed; The rookie clones landing in his company, in battalions across the Grand Army, were getting progressively younger as the war went on. Even Fives had been younger than the standard age when he had been deployed, and that was years ago.

            Still, Rex had hoped he would never see _this_. Bringing kids into the forces might work individually, but on a mass scale, the strength of the Army was certainly going to start cracking. He thought of Cody triumphantly exclaiming that the war was nearing its end, that they had almost won, and now more than ever desperately hoped his friend was right. But all of that depended on the success of this rapidly deteriorating mission Rex had found himself in charge of.

            He pressed his face into his gloved hands. What could he do? He was stuck in an unfriendly biochemical weapons lab in the middle of a radioactive wasteland, and his chief mission operations specialist was out of commission. He was left with nothing but a squad of faulty half-droid adolescents and his own wits to eliminate the computer virus that was killing his brothers by the hundreds—thousands!—out on the front.

           He had to get Echo back. He didn't want to admit it, but Rex did not trust himself to be able finish this alone. He needed him.

            “Can you still access the building’s general network?” Rex asked Twenty-two, who had lapsed into a deferential silence.

            “Yes, sir. Accessing now.”

            “Monitor those hallway doors. Make sure _no_ one comes back this way.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “And see if you can find somewhere nearby with medical scanning equipment!” Rex stood and faced Echo, looking at the implant. He forced himself to focus. It seemed like all the same lights were on or blinking as before, but how was he supposed to know? Even being able to diagnose Echo with medical scanners seemed like a long shot, but he had to do _something._

            “Yes, sir. Should we attempt to locate the real virus terminal?”

            “No. I need you to assist me with Echo. You can make diagnostics I can't. You said you doubted your ability to go on with this on your own anyway. I would rather have you all safe where I can keep an eye on you so we can get right back on track once Echo comes back to himself.” Rex put Echo’s helmet back on, made sure it was secure, and took a slow breath to clear his head. “Are we clear to move out? Do we have a destination?”

            “There is a small lab with medical equipment, one level down,” he said. “The doors to that section were activated during the evacuation, which suggests the Mrlssi vacated it.”

            “Lock the doors until we’re down there,” Rex said, returning his own helmet. He pulled experimentally on one of Echo’s arms. He could lift it away from Echo’s side without much resistance, so he pulled it over his shoulders and placed his other hand squarely on Echo’s back. “Which number are you?” he asked one of the commandos by the door.

            “RC-Seven-Seven-Two-Three, Captain.”

            “Grab his arm, we'll walk him to the med bay. You,” he said, gesturing to the third commando, “keep watch on our path with that bug.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            RC-7723 took Echo’s other arm. Rex pulled him forward experimentally and Echo took a small, jerky step to correct his balance. It was going to be too slow. They would have to carry him.

            “Okay. Let’s go. Twenty-two, take the rear guard.”

            Rex and RC-7723 lifted Echo into a seated carry and headed for the exit, Twenty-two falling instep behind them, helmet replaced and back to a silent seriousness.

            The hallway was clear when they filed out and fell back into formation. They went back the way they had come, shuffling as quickly as Rex and his commando could manage.

            They made good time on the way to the stairwell to the lower level, the scout only giving each intersection a quick glance before beckoning them down the next hall. But Echo’s dead weight slowed them down as they carefully went down the stairs, one step at a time. A full grown man in a heavy suit of armor—it wasn't easy, and Rex could tell the commando wasn't managing to carry a full half of the weight. At the bottom, Rex and his partner caught their breaths, and Rex nodded to their leading commando to check the door.

            The hatch slid apart to reveal a hallway much more dimly lit than the one above. Only a third of the small square ceiling lights appeared to be working. Their bug whirred forward, and soon they were in pursuit.

            Their steps echoed hollowly around them. Rex found it eerie, how compared to the upper level, this one seemed desolate. There were numerous doors on the walls with pitch-black windows that they could only hope were empty. Passing them felt like walking in front of gigantic eyes.

            They had no choice but to keep going. Rex’s scalp tingled, warning him of all the imaginary enemies that gathered in the shadows with each hollow scuffling of their boots.

            A sharp _clink_ sounded to their right. Everyone froze and spun. The scout switched on his headlamps, blaster raised; water dripped to the floor from an old cooling unit in the wall and rattled a piece of glass against the floor, loomed over by a vending machine. _Clink._

            “It’s nothing,” Rex breathed. “Everyone relax. Are we almost there?”

            The commando turned back toward him and hugged his blaster into an aiming position. Rex reached for one of his pistols, not giving himself time to think.

            A moment later a shot rang out, but the light of it came from behind Rex.

            “What?!” He dropped Echo’s arm and shoved him against the wall, simultaneously whirling about with a DC-17 aimed down the hall in the direction of the fire. The scout's headlamps fell on a juvenile Mrlssi, limp on the floor. One of the other commandos was standing over it.

            “Sorry, Captain.” Twenty-two said. “We were being followed—”

            The commando yelped as an arc of light burst from the wall and struck his foot. He lurched forward and broke his fall with his arms at the last second, rolling onto his back and returning fire at the shadows.

            “They’ve got blasters!” Rex yelled. He scattered fire and the others followed his lead. “Grab the wounded and let’s go! Go GO _GO!_ You! Pick him up, _pick him up!_ ”

            He grabbed Echo’s arm again and dragged him forward on his own, sending shots behind him as best he could. There didn’t seem to be any more coming from behind, but it was hard to tell in the dark, the headlamp flicking back and forth. RC-7723 was helping Twenty-two and providing cover.

            “Where are we going?” Rex yelled.

            “Follow me!” their scout commando yelled, but skidded to a halt suddenly. “They’re heading us off!”

            “Keep moving!” Rex urged, shooting stun beams just past him to the quivering crowd of birds emerging from the dimly backlit opening at the other end of the hall. “If we can get to the medical lab, we can keep them out! Move it!”

            The first wave of Mrlssi went down, and for a few seconds Rex thought they might be done. But one, two, then six more blaster bolts lit up the hall in eerie shadows and sent a red flash across feathered, scaly faces from below. Rex and the commandos shot down and then staggered their way through the pile of Mrlssi, struggling not to tread on the creatures’ fragile bones. The stun effect might not last long—it always depended on the creature being shot.

            On the other side, more Mrlssi scattered and shot wildly at them. Their scout rolled right past two of them and took them down with a swing of his heavily armored arms before disappearing through a door that slid open just in time. Rex half-threw Echo through the door and turned back to give covering fire to RC-7723 and Twenty-two. A moment later, they were all inside; the door slid shut, and there was near silence but for Rex's panting.

            “The door is locked,” said RC-7723. The ceiling lights flickered on. “They shouldn’t be able to override it. We’re safe for the moment.”

            “Lucky they’re not great shots,” Rex said, exhaling, and he crouched to examine where the blaster had pierced Twenty-two's armor. “Kind of like droids that way. You okay, kid?”

            “He’s fine,” said RC-7723. “The damage is reparable.”

            Rex frowned at him. “That’s gotta hurt, though.” He stood back up, struck with a thought. “Can you all feel it when one of you is wounded?”

            “We are aware, yes,” said RC-7723.

            “That’s… not what I meant.” Rex dropped it; there were more important things to focus on. Echo had managed to stay upright despite his violent entrance into the room, and was back to standing at attention.

            The room was some kind of medical lab, to be sure, but it was small, and Rex felt his confidence wavering as his eyes wandered over the rudimentary equipment. He didn’t have the first clue what they could use to fix or even diagnose Echo’s problem. And now they’d blown one of the mission directives: don’t draw the attention of the locals. It would be that much harder to get rid of the virus now. Feeling that things couldn't really go much worse at this point, Rex decided all they could really do is make do with what had happened. As long as they managed to stop that virus, nothing else really mattered. And they would, because they must.

            “Search the room. Look for anything we can use to see what’s going on with Echo’s implant,” Rex commanded. “You.” He pointed at the one who was helping Twenty-two into a chair. “Patch up your friend.”

            Rex walked over to a large device against the wall that seemed familiar. He’d seen the doctors on Coruscant use something like this to evaluate the damage in his leg after the explosion on Thisspias. But would that do Echo any good?

            A heavy pounding came from the other side of the door. Angry screeches followed. Rex moved on to look at another piece of equipment.

            “This will do.” RC-7723 straightened from rummaging in a drawer of supplies, and pulled out a small electrical hub. “This is used for diagnosing flaws in cybernetic limbs.”

            The device was no bigger than Rex's thumb. “Do you know how to operate it?”

            “It should connect directly to the implant. Then it transmits the results to the medical computer.”

            “Let's give it a shot,” Rex said. They had nothing to lose. “Hook him up.”

            They managed to get Echo to sit on one of the beds. Rex took Echo’s helmet off once more, and RC-7723 carefully aligned the device with some of the wires embedded in Echo’s temple, then pressed the tiny switch on the back. The hub latched on and pierced Echo’s skin with a superfine filament. Rex winced a little and turned on the medical computer.

            “Alright, let’s do this the old fashioned way, and _hopefully_ the virus, or whatever is causing this, won’t spread to you.”

            “We've regained access to ARC-Zero-Four-Zero-Eight’s implant,” said RC-7723. “But we have no command over any of his functions.”

            “Is he infected? Are there any traces of the virus?”

            “No, sir.”

            Rex groaned in tense exasperation. “Then _why_ is he acting like this?”

            “When the virus at the terminal made contact with the implant, the program that acts as a firewall was activated, as were ours, just as they are meant to be. But his aggressively attacked something else, some other device.”

            “Is he still in contact with the building’s computer network? Shut down the connection!”

            “No, Captain. He is no longer in active contact with any network. He is locked in standby.”

            “What is that supposed to mean?” Rex asked, staring at Echo’s face. “How can you put a human being in 'standby' mode like he was some computer? He's _still human!_ What _other_ device could his implant be in conflict with?”

            There was a brief pause, and in that space punctuated by the ruckus from outside, Rex felt the answer before it was even said.

            “There is a chip,” said RC-7723. “We ran a self-diagnostic, just now, and this chip doesn't exist in any of us but ARC-Zero-Four-Zero-Eight. It seems to have been activated and is overriding all but ARC-Zero-Four-Zero-Eight's life support systems.”

            Rex felt cold, his blood icy. The pounding on the door hadn’t stopped. His stomach twisted itself into a knot so fast that it felt like someone had punched him there and left a bruise. He stared at one of his fists and tried to decide what to do. Perhaps this was what he had been waiting for.

            “Can you tell what this chip is for?” he breathed.

            “It appears to hook directly into the limbic system and frontal lobe, capable of suppressing or stimulating either one as necessary. At the moment, ARC-Zero-Four-Zero-Eight’s brain waves resemble those of a patient under hypnosis.”

            “Hypnosis?” Rex murmured to himself. The pounding on the door abruptly stopped, and he turned to face it.

            “You haffve a wounded comrrrade?” one of the shrill voices unexpectedly switched to Basic. The consonants came out in grating squeaks and trills, the F sound turning into a whistle. “We will hhhelp you.”

            It would be an unforgivable diversion from the mission, but maybe this was his chance to get answers. The Mrlssi were scientists, and they were somewhere far from the ever watchful eye of GAR Command and Kaminoan doctors—even the Jedi council. If ever there was a place to study something in secret and not be hampered by bureaucracy or taboo, this could be it. But could the Mrlssi be trusted, especially after their fire fight? Their briefing about the situation with the aliens had not been accurate or complete, and Rex didn't know what to believe was true. The Mrlssi had shot at them, but they were trespassing in a sensitive area. It was a reasonable reaction. Rex and the commandos had only used stun bolts.

            Rex paused, trying to lay out their options. Now that the Mrlssi were outside their door, secretly completing the mission was impossible. It seemed they had no choice but to negotiate, as fighting their way through the rest of it, surrounded by potentially lethal biochemicals and radiation, seemed completely impossible, even for him.

            And the possibility of finally learning more about the nature of the chips, whether he and every other clone were a danger to the Jedi and the Republic, was too grave to ignore. If it was really all true, it would make this computer virus merely a bother in comparison.

            “Why arrre you hhhere? Why do you sn-n-neakkk arrround?” The clicking of a beak came through clearly, almost like a laugh. “Itsss fverrrry dan-gerousss!”

            “We came,” Rex tried, “to seek assistance.”

            The Mrlssi really did laugh now, a squawking laugh. “You come to spy-y on us. You haffve been sent by-y the ennnemy!”

            Rex was afraid of saying the wrong thing. He didn't know who the Mrlssi considered the enemy to be. Before he made a political disaster of what scanty relations the Anaxsi and Mrlssi had, he needed more information. He was loathe to do it given the state of the mission, but maybe he wouldn't have to say too much. It was time to check in with General Skywalker, and—Rex glanced at Echo—maybe a quick call would give them some other answers too.

            He leaned against the other hospital bed, across from Echo, and pulled out his holoprojector, ignoring the intermittent speech from the other side of the door as the Mrlssi squawked amongst themselves and tried to elicit further conversation from Rex. It would probably take a few minutes at least for Skywalker to answer the call, if he was able to at all. Who knew what kind of battle or stealth operation he might be in the middle of?

            To Rex's relief, the General’s hologram materialized within seconds. He stood straight and composed; that was good. “Rex. Good of you to call back. I tried to get through to you a few minutes ago, but I guess you were busy.”

            Rex glanced at Echo, but there was no sign on his face that he was even aware of the hologram in Rex’s hand, let alone a violent reaction at the sight of a Jedi. And right now, there was no way to tell if it would be different in person.

            “Things haven’t gone exactly as planned, General,” Rex admitted in a low voice, hoping the Mrlssi wouldn't be able to make out his conversation. “One of my men is injured, Echo’s been incapacitated, and there’s been some resistance from the locals.”

            “The locals?” Skywalker held up his hands. “Hold on. Start from the beginning.”

            “Yes, sir. We’ve traced the source of the virus to a facility in a locked down city on Anaxes. The city was supposedly poisoned by radiation years ago, but there’s a group of Mrlssi here that managed to survive, and they don’t seem to agree with the Anaxsi government. That's the story we were given. We made it into the city undetected, we found the source of the virus, but Echo’s cybernetics malfunctioned and we were detected. We’re currently holding our position in a small medical lab.”

            “ _That’s_ not good news,” Skywalker said bitterly. “I was just contacted by the Chancellor. Losing so many ships means we’re losing ground in the Outer Rim, and fast. He’s _concerned_ about how your mission is going. Are you saying you need a hand? Sergeant Appo and I are just finishing up here with that Verpine engineer. But it’ll take some time to get back to Anaxes.”

            “We’re not in any immediate danger, General,” Rex said. “But... the truth is, our intel about this mission was extremely poor. I don't know whether it was by design, or if the Anaxsi government is unaware of what's going on here.”

            “What is it, Rex?” Skywalker's brow was furrowed.

            “We were told the Mrlssi were mere leftovers of an old scientific partnership, that their occupation of this city was by choice.... and we were given the distinct impression that their existence here was of little importance, civilian....”

            “But?”

            “Well,” Rex felt uncomfortable divulging this information. He didn't want to put the General in danger by knowing something he shouldn't. “There's... a thriving science facility here. A lab. I'm not sure what they are doing, but it looks serious, and it seemed to me that they may be constructing some kind of bio-weapon, although on whose authority, and for the use against whom, is a mystery to me, given the shoddy briefing we were given.”

            “ _What?_ ” Skywalker almost laughed. “You're kidding. A bio-weapon? A _biochemical weapon?_ For all of our sakes, I hope you're wrong, Rex. I'll.... discreetly see if I can find out whether the Anaxsi are aware of this. If not, I will go to the Chancellor himself. In the meantime, Rex, _you must figure out a way to take down that computer virus_. We still don't know where our Verpine fits into all of this, so don't count on your feathered associates being friends _or_ foes just yet. They might not even be aware of the virus, though I admit it seems unlikely.”

            “But sir,” Rex hesitated. “...I'm... not sure how to proceed.”

            “I’ll have to leave that up to your judgment, Rex. I would say completing this mission is more important than upsetting political alliances on Anaxes, but given what you've said... well, be careful. And _don't provoke them_ , not until we know what is really going on. You're a smart man, Rex. I know you will figure out a way to complete this mission. The navy is counting on you.”

            “Understood,” Rex said, wishing he felt Skywalker's confidence. “One more thing, General, before you go… could you try giving Echo a direct order? Maybe it’ll snap him out of this trance.”

            “So you’re sure he’s Echo, now?” Skywalker raised his eyebrows. “I guess I’ll have to ask for the full story when you get back. Okay. Let’s give it a try.”

            Rex turned the holoprojector and lifted it so it was in range of Echo’s face.

            “Echo? Can you hear me?” Skywalker called. Echo blinked, but his eyes continued to stare stubbornly past the hologram. “Echo, I order you to tell me your number.”

            Nothing.

            Rex sighed. “It was worth a shot. Thanks, General.”

            “Good luck,” said Skywalker, looking a bit mystified. “Hang in there, Captain.”

            As soon as the hologram disappeared, Rex put in a call to Admiral Bet.

            “Yes, Captain?” she said, with that same gravity he had felt in the briefing room. “Have you made any progress?”

            “We’ve determined that the virus is coming from a communications terminal in the center of this city,” Rex said carefully.

            “Good. Were you able to remove it?”

            “No, sir. Unfortunately, we were detected, and the Mrlssi became hostile. We’ve locked ourselves into a building, but a number of the Mrlssi are aware of us now.”

            “I’m disappointed, Captain,” said Bet tiredly. “But what’s done is done. How do you plan to proceed?”

            “I suggest we tell them that we know about the virus, and offer them leniency as a reward if they allow us within range to remove it.”

            “You put too much faith in them. Normally Mrlssi are a cultured and rational species. But this group has proven to be the opposite. I doubt they will agree to negotiate.”

            “All the same… do I have your permission to make an attempt at negotiations, sir?” Rex tried.

            Admiral Bet sighed roughly. “I suppose it can’t do any more harm than has been done already. You may proceed.”

            “Thank you, Admiral.”

            The hologram vanished without a parting word from Bet.

            Rex put the projector away and took a moment to consider his options, studying his blasters to keep his eyes from straying back to Echo’s face. The Mrlssi on the other side of the door had gone silent, no doubt having been attempting to eavesdrop on his conversations. Rex went back to the door.

            “Hello?” he called.

            “You haffve called reinffforcements!” one of them crowed.

            “No!” Rex cried. “No, I was—listen, we need your help, it's true. One of our members is incapacitated and we don't understand what has happened to him. We hoped you might know something since you're familiar with biology.”

            “But, why arrre you here? No one comes to this-s place!”

            “There's... a computer virus. It's....” Rex sighed. “It's killing my family,” he said, feeling the words awkwardly in his mouth, hoping they would illicit some sympathy. “Their ships are dead in space, and they're dying.”

            “Whattt does this haffve to do with us?!”

            “I don't know! All I know is that we found that the virus was transmitting from somewhere here and the only way to save them is to kill the virus at the source. Do you know where it is?”

            “We haffve no knowleddge of this!”                                                         

            “It's true!” Rex said. “You can check yourself! That's why we're here. But now my brother is ill. Maybe you can help him. Maybe we can make an exchange. Is there anything you want?”

            Rex felt guilty, knowing he had no way of keeping his side of any bargain they made. But this was no time to feel regret. Too much was at stake to worry about a few disappointed Mrlssi.

            The Mrlssi warbled at each other in their native tongue before one of them spoke again.

            “We need trrade partners-s! Always lacking in bas-sic suppliess! We hhhave no sup-port!”

            Rex wasn't sure this was entirely true. Whoever was responsible for this lab's operations must be supplying them with the rations they saw before. But it didn't matter. “I have an associate, a close friend,” Rex started, “he's a very skilled smuggler. I can put a word in for you. He could at least bring you something—a lot of something! That would last you a while.”

            “This-s is not ideal for usss... But perhhhaps it is a st-art. Let us in, we will look at your bro-ther!”

            Rex motioned for RC-7723 to stand aside with pistols ready in case they turned aggressive. Rex was certain that if it came down to it, they would outlast the birds in a fight, but he would rather not make it to that point. Cautiously, Rex opened the door.

            Immediately the front Mrlssi squawked and recoiled.

            “Youu! You are a soldier!”

            “Yes!” Rex said, throwing his hands up, “But I need your help! Everything I said was true!” The pang of guilt stirred in him again but he ignored it.

            “The Ann-naxsi sent Rrrepublic arrrmy clones. They marrrked us as en-nemies long ago.”

            “I don’t know anything about that,” Rex tried. “We’re just here to stop the computer virus. We were ordered not to harm you. We only returned stun bolts before in self defense, and your friends should be fine. We're at your mercy now.”

            The Mrlssi didn't seem particularly ready to fire shots, but they were a rather loud and reactive group. They tittered anxiously.

            “This, your bro-ther?” One went over next to Echo and peered into his face.

            “Yes,” Rex said. “He's...”

            “Cy-borg!” The Mrlssi seemed delighted rather than disgusted, but Rex couldn't be certain.

            “Yes....”

            The birds once again erupted in warbling commentary and Rex wondered what they were saying.

            “There's a chip,” he said cautiously. “In his head. It's... malfunctioning. We're not sure what it's even for. Do you have any way of diagnosing its purpose?”

            “Perr-haps,” the interested Mrlssi near Echo said. Its feathers were green and downy, its lab scrubs clean. It pulled a silver device from a drawer that looked like a large leggy spider with tiny needles at the feet. Rex felt helpless at the trust he had to put in these potential enemies, but he had to know if they could find something. The Mrlssi applied the device around Echo's skull, and it hugged his head tightly.

            “I'll keep monitoring ARC-Zero-Four-Zero-Eight's brain activity,” RC-7723 said quietly to Rex, and he wondered if that was his way of trying to comfort him.

            The Mrlssi turned on another holo display and the entire flock of scientists crowded around it.

            “This maaay take some hhhtime!” the green Mrlssi said.

            Rex desperately hoped it would not take too much. He was not sure how long Admiral Bet would allow them to loiter in Drann, especially once General Skywalker started poking around. It all depended on the true benefactor of the Mrlssi's labwork. But right now, those concerns seemed distant. All Rex really cared about in the moment was finally uncovering the truth of the chips, and putting at least some of his uncertainty to rest. Perhaps they would discover it really was nothing more than an inhibitor chip, and although it pained Rex to think Fives really had just gone mad, Rex dared not hope Fives' beliefs had been right. Because if they were, Rex already knew he would have no idea how to stop it.

 


	9. Chapter 9

            Rex shifted in his chair. It was taking the Mrlssi what felt like ages to come up with... well... anything, and the tension Rex felt in his chest was impossible to will away. Twenty-two was resting against one wall of the room, which relieved Rex to some degree. It was nice to see him be a little human. He had sent the other two commandos out to search for the real virus terminal some time ago. The four Mrlssi themselves were still crowded around Echo and the holo terminal, chirping softly to themselves. It was strange to watch. They were much more animated than the Kaminoan doctors had ever been.

            “Any progress?” Rex said, rubbing his head. They were coming up on the fifth hour in Drann.

            “Verry interes-ting! This cyber-netic enhhancement!” the green Mrlssi stated.

            “Yes, but what about the chip?” Rex said, desperately hoping they hadn't just been cawing about the headset the whole time. But at that moment, the two commandos shuffled through the door.

            “Captain, I must speak with you,” RC-7723 said.

            Rex glanced at the Mrlssi, then at Twenty-two, and followed RC-7723 out into the hallway.

            “What is it?” Rex said, desperately hoping for some good news.

            “We examined three terminals that appeared to be transmitting the virus. Others, we were unable to take a look at due to their positions behind secured areas. We decided not to force entry without your order, especially without knowing the biosafety status of any given area.”

            “More decoys?”

            “Perhaps. We didn't attempt to decrypt the programs without your presence in case one of us were to malfunction, as unlikely as that seems to be.”

            “You don't think they are _all_ transmitting the virus?”

            “That could also be. We'll need to destroy or disable each terminal, including those in the secured areas.”

            “And Echo?”

            RC-7723 hesitated a moment. “He's the most proficient at decrypting and analyzing computer programs. We're all capable, but ARC-Zero-Four-Zero-Eight has outperformed us on every test. Given the aggressive nature of this virus, it would be best to have him lead us on disabling it.”

            “You might not have a choice.”

            “We understand, Captain. Would you like us to continue with the mission?”

            “No,” Rex said. “Not yet. We'll need the Mrlssi to help us with the terminals in the secure areas. We don't want to release... whatever it is that they're working on here.”

            “If you say so, Captain, but it shouldn't matter. Our armor is effective against biochemical agents, and if this weapon, if that's what it is, were to be released, it couldn't spread farther than Drann.”

            Rex sighed and shook his head. “I'm not going to disregard the safety of the civilians. Not if I can help it. Maybe we'll have to force our way in, but maybe not.”

            “The Mrlssi may be helping us now, but they are not our allies.”

            “I know. We don't know anything about them or who they're working for. But right now, they are being helpful enough, and it would be much easier to finish this mission with their assistance. I'd rather not cross them at this point.” Rex glanced at the door to the lab. He didn't dare risk upsetting them, not now that they were investigating the chip. Rex wasn't sure how long he could keep them interested.

            “Captain, it's possible that these Mrlssi are meant to distract us while others in the facility sabotage our efforts to destroy the virus.”

            “Right now, we have to trust them. Please return to the medical lab and follow my orders.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Rex turned back into the lab, and RC-7723 followed. Rex sighed quietly, telling himself he was doing right by listening to his instincts to trust the Mrlssi. He walked to Echo's side, the strange leggy device still grasping his head and implant in a threatening way.

            “Have you found out anything about the chip?” Rex asked.

            A Mrlssi shook its head. “Weee can't de-tect any chip.”

            “Oh, it's there,” Rex said, internally groaning at the lack of progress.

            “It's designed to be undetectable,” Twenty-two said, getting up. “That much is clear.”

            The commando took his helmet off and went to Echo's side. He looked at the screen that controlled the scanning device. “It's here in this area,” he said, pointing to a spot on Echo's head. “The frequency and pace you're scanning with isn't invasive enough to detect it. Concentrate your scan in this area. These settings should be sufficient.”

            “This hhmay dis-rupt brain activity.”

            “It's already been disrupted,” Rex said. “It won't cause any long term damage, will it?”

            “We re-servve this for post-mortem hhhexaminat-tions of the brain.”

            “He'll be fine,” Twenty-two said. “Many of his mental processes have long been transferred to his cybernetic implant.”

            Rex sighed. “Continue, then.” He hoped the young commando knew what he was talking about.  He wasn't keen on sacrificing Echo's life for this when he didn't seem to be in any particular danger as he was, even if it was a sort of coma. But the truth was worth the risk, he told himself. Echo would agree.

            The Mrlssi's chirping turned low and uncertain but they continued anyway.

            Rex folded his arms and prepared to wait once more. It was so uncomfortable. His conscience was prodding him to get on with the mission, but in a way that's what he was doing. They needed Echo to tackle the virus. He was doing what was necessary. It just happened to have the benefit of learning more about the chips.

           He wondered how General Skywalker was faring learning more about the functions and goals of the lab here. Rex could ask the Mrlssi, but again, he didn't want to risk upsetting them now that they had an uneasy alliance. They probably _could_ get away with destroying the computer virus openly now without much backlash, especially if the Mrlssi really didn't know it was there, but poking into their scientific work could be a very different story.

            One of the Mrlssi, a large crested male, cawed shrilly. “We hhhave found it, this chip! It is not, a, a small thing!”

            “Not small?” Rex stood up, uncrossing his arms. “Why's it so hard to detect?”

            Twenty-two was not looking at the readout. He probably had it all in his head already. “It's completely organic... if it wasn't currently activated, I doubt we could have sensed it at all.”

            “Wait,” Rex said. “If you only found it because it's been activated, how do you know you don't also have it? You and the rest of Diode Squad?”

            “It's possible we have been designed to be unable to sense it,” he said. “But we are meant to be self monitoring. It would be a serious flaw in our design as a collective unit if we couldn't monitor every function of our brains. Echo's chip has been activated through contact with the virus and the conflict with his cybernetic enhancement, while I remained unaffected by the same process.”

            Rex sighed. It didn't matter one way or the other.

            “You can't tell what the chip is for? What it does? I was told it was meant to inhibit the aggressive independent nature of our genetic template. Make us... domesticated.” Rex put his head into his hand and laughed humorlessly. He must have been a fool to ever have believed for even a moment that this made sense. Jango Fett was selected because he was already the perfect template, psychologically, physically, for an army. They would never have chosen someone whose basic genetic psychology made an inhibitor chip necessary. Not to mention that aggression was a necessary trait for any soldier to have—he had seen great men cut down on the battlefield for not having enough.

            The Mrlssi were analyzing the read out, but it was RC-7723 who spoke. “It's not an inhibitor chip.”

            Rex and the Mrlssi turned to him.

            “If it were something that was constantly active, adjusting Echo's basic thought patterns, we would have certainly detected it long ago. This chip has never been active in the time we have been connected to Echo.”

            “Well,” Rex said darkly, “that's one part of the mystery answered.”

            Twenty-two continued with his analysis. “As far as its purpose, we can't determine it for certain. As I said before, his brain waves resemble a form of hypnosis. He is alert to his surroundings, but not consciously responsive to them. He may be waiting for something, but _what_ is impossible to say. It's a strange piece of hardware to install into a soldier. If these should be triggered in this way in the middle of a battle, the army would be laid to waste.”

            “I only know of the chip because this has happened to at least one of my men before, but he didn't respond to it like this. He... he became overtaken by a need to kill... the Jedi. Any Jedi.” He swallowed, remembering how Tup seemed barely aware of what he had done in his moment of madness; how he seized back into that state at the sight of General Tiplee. Rex could feel the grim reality of the function of the chips encroaching into his heart. It really had been just as Fives had said. The chips were meant to control them, and the behavior of Tup indicated Jedi were the intended target. The only piece of the conspiracy that remained was who was responsible, who hoped to trigger it, and whether they were still in a position to do so. Rex still didn't know who had commissioned the army, especially given that it was done at a time of peace. Obi-Wan's evasive answers implied that it was someone the Jedi trusted enough to feel safe using the army, so it had to have been an ally to the Jedi who was once in a position of enough power to order the army's creation. It made no sense for it to be the Chancellor as Fives had believed, as he was no one of significant importance back then. But given that Fives was right about the nature of the chips, why would he accuse someone as unlikely as the Chancellor unless it were true?

            The fear in Rex's heart tightened his chest. No... it just couldn't be true. There had to be some other explanation! Something they had missed!

            The commandos were quiet, and the Mrlssi were talking low to each other. RC-7723 was watching him. He had no perceptible expression, and it made Rex even more anxious. He knew nothing about these commandos. How could he trust them with such sensitive information?

            “This is highly confidential,” Rex murmured, putting a hand to his own chest. “Do not speak of any of this to anyone, even under direct orders to talk. There is a traitor in the Republic. Someone... with the power to demand you speak. But whatever you do, you can't let them know you know anything about these chips. We... we have to stop this, somehow. This conspiracy. And the only way we can do that is if the enemy remains unaware that we know what's really going on here.”

            The commandos stared at him, the tiniest furrow of the brow visible of RC-7723's face.

            “Well? That's an order!”

            “Yes, sir,” the three said in unison.

            “You understand, don't you? You understand what's at stake here.”

            “We don't,” RC-7723 said, and Rex sighed shakily. “But we always function according to the orders of our commanding officer. If you would prefer it, we can erase our memories of this knowledge.”

            Rex's kneejerk reaction was of disgust, that erasing a man's memory was a gross violation of his basic personhood... but Rex suspected that if there was any chance of stopping this nightmare from coming true, transgressions such as these were only the beginning of what he would have to allow.

            “I will keep that in mind,” he said, and turned to the Mrlssi. “Is there any way to remove the chip? Can you stop it?”

            “Ehh!” the green Mrlssi said. “I do not thhhink so. Thhis would re-quire a surgery for which we are cer-tainly unprepared.”

            “There is a hhhway,” the crested one said. “Something dif-ferent.”

            “What is it?” Rex asked, feeling helpless. “Anything... anything you could suggest.”

            “We can perhhhaps inter-rupt this, ffvia elec-trrric-k-k pulse to the source.”

            “Is that safe?” Rex asked.

            “I don't recommend it, Captain,” Twenty-two said. “Not unless one of us administers the shock. We may have the necessary precision, but I would not trust these Mrlssi.”

            The crested one squawked in offense. “If you know hhhow to do it, then do it yourself!”

            “I would not have thought of it,” Twenty-two said pointedly. “But it's possible that it could work.”

            “But that doesn't solve anything,” Rex said. “That stops it this time, but it just leaves it there to act up again later. This shock won't destroy it, will it?”

            “Errr, no.” The Mrlssi's crest slackened a bit.

            “What we need is a method to completely neutralize it, make sure it can't be activated again. Something fast that can be administered to hundreds of thousands of soldiers, ‘cause it's not just Echo who has this. Every clone does. Every clone is a _threat_ to the very system we are fighting to _protect!_ ” Rex felt a wave of revulsion for himself, knowing that he too carried this manufactured flaw in his brain. The idea that someone could simply say the word or whatever it was and make him shoot General Skywalker in the back was enough to make him want to shoot _himself_... but he couldn't, he realized. Now, he was too important to die, because he knew. He could only hope his luck of staying alive on the battlefield would stay with him long enough to figure out how to stop this.

            “A fffvirus,” one of the Mrlssi suddenly said, its voice high-pitched but quiet. This one hadn't spoken to them yet. Its feathers were a sunny yellow.

            “What?” Rex said.

            “You could ma-nu-fffacture a con-tagion to target and neu-trah-lize thhis.”

            “I... you could maybe but... I don't know how I would begin to.... I'm no scientist.”

            “Perhhaps, an agreement?” the crested one said. “A fur-ther exchhange?”

            Rex took a deep breath. “I don't have anything. I'm just a soldier, I... I don't have any property or money or influence. Look, I don't know whose side you're on, if you're on the side of the Republic or the Separatists or something else... but there are hundreds of thousands of clones out there, thinking people with a mind and a conscience, and this chip turns them into...,” he swallowed, “into something less than human. Machines. Machines designed to kill whatever _somebody_ wants without concern or remorse, and unless you know who's responsible and what their ultimate goal is, no one is safe. Not even you, out here in the middle of nowhere. Because whoever's powerful enough to create a conspiracy of this magnitude, and actually manage to execute it, is both patient and powerful enough to do anything they want. And that would be the end of democracy and everything the Republic stands for. You live on a planet that would surely be targeted given its long history as allies to the Republic cause, regardless of what you yourselves believe.”

            The Mrlssi stirred and fluffed their feathers, seeming unmoved. Rex exhaled. There was nothing he could do to convince them they should help when he didn't know anything about them or who the enemy even was.

            “Please,” he breathed. “I don't have anything to give you. I'm just trying to protect my brothers. All my brothers. And my friends. We know no life but service to the Republic... and I have watched many good men die to protect it. I don't want to see that all be in vain... to have all those sacrifices invalidated by turning us into something mindless and evil. Please....” Rex put his hands on the bed Echo sat on and bowed his head. What could he do now but beg? He had no one else to go to, no other hope he could think of.

            “I will hhhelp you,” the yellow one chirped. The others murmured in agitation and started  what Rex could only understand to be arguing. The yellow one remained at Echo's side as the other three backed away slightly, and all the while the four of them made a cacophony of noises that barely seemed like words. But all of the sudden the three dissenters went quiet and stood in an aggravated and tense silence on the edge of the room, watching the yellow Mrlssi with beady eyes.

            The yellow one turned back to Rex and began. “Thhis hhvirus, it must be spe-cially de-signed to target-t thhis chip! It will take time, perhhhaps weeks or months.”

            “I understand,” Rex said quickly. “I don't have any other option.”

            “I must hhhave a chip for an-alysssis, we must-t re-move it from thhis one.” The Mrlssi began digging through a drawer of instruments.

            “You said you couldn't safely remove it,” Rex said in a low voice.

            The Mrlssi straightened and stared into his eyes. “Thhis one must-t be sa-cri-ficed. I must hhhave a chip to hhelp you.”

            Rex stared at the floor, then looked at Echo. His face was still blank. Then Rex looked at the commandos.

            “Sir,” RC-7723 said. “We must not forget our original mission. We must destroy the computer virus. This is secondary.”

            “This isn't secondary. Not anymore. I don't think there is any way Echo can help you... even if they revive him now, he'll just fall into this again when you reach the terminal. You can do this. I know you can... especially if the Mrlssi are willing to help.”

            “Captain, you were sent on this mission to lead us. You are abandoning your responsibilities by focusing on this instead of assisting us with the removal of the virus, especially now that ARC-Zero-Four-Zero-Eight is unable to lead. We still don't know which terminal the virus is transmitting from.”

            The tension in Rex's muscles was making it hard to remain calm. “I don't know how to help you. I don't! This mission is beyond my training. I'm not sure why Echo even asked me to be on it.” Rex shook his head. “I know you don't understand and you're just following orders, but there is no mission more important than destroying these chips. Now I order you to get on with the mission without me!”

            “You will not allow Echo to be revived at all?” Twenty-two sounded almost hurt, but Rex was not sure if he was only imagining it. It wasn't hard, given how Rex was feeling.

            “That... would only make this harder.” Rex gritted his teeth. He didn't want to think about what he had to do. The yellow Mrlssi was waiting for him to give the go ahead to euthanize Echo, a hypo lifted in its strange clawed hand.

            RC-7723 looked at him reproachfully. “Respectfully, Captain, our function as a special ops commando unit, the only one of its kind, is made possible by ARC-Zero-Four-Zero-Eight as our commanding officer, and is of greater value to the Republic than your life. If a chip must be donated, it is you who—”

            “That's enough, soldier!” Rex growled. “Do you think this is an easy choice for me? It's never easy to send men to their deaths. Not just that, but _friends._ I have put my own life on the line for my men time and again. I have not suddenly become selfish about the preservation of my own life over another's. Since you don't understand the seriousness of the situation we are in, I can only insist that you _trust me_ as your captain to be making the best tactical decision.”

            A quick blip from the communicator let Rex know a call was coming in on the holoprojector. Rex pulled it out and turned it on.

            “General.”

            “Rex, are you alright?” Skywalker asked.

            Rex struggled to unclench his jaw. “Everything is fine.”

            “I've contacted the Anaxsi Navy and they claim to have no knowledge of this—”

            “General,” Rex interrupted. “Perhaps... discretion...” he flicked his eyes toward the listening Mrlssi, “would be best at the moment.”

            Anakin looked taken aback. “Captaiiin,” he said, a warning tone in his voice. “What's going on?”

            “Just trust me, sir. We're doing everything we can on our end.”

            Anakin frowned then sighed. “Well... I haven't been able to learn anything about... what we talked about before. The Navy claims to know nothing about it, and the government itself hasn't responded to my request for an audience.”

            “And... the Chancellor?”

            Anakin shook his head. “I tried to ask him about it but he immediately turned things back to this mission. He's extremely concerned about its success, and I can't say I blame him. Every time we check in with the fronts, there's a longer list of casualties. Our navy has backed off but we're sitting targets and the enemy knows it.”

            “We're about to move onto the target. With any luck, we'll—”

            “Luck isn't good enough. You have to destroy that virus, and you have to do it now. The Chancellor himself recorded a message for you. He's worried. Please don't fail me, Rex. I'm counting on you. We all are.” Skywalker vanished, his hologram replaced with one of Chancellor Palpatine.

            “Captain Rex.” The Chancellor looked very worried, his voice grave. Rex straightened to attention by reflex. “I’m sending this message to impress upon you the urgency of our situation. I understand you’ve become entangled in a bit of a political mess on Anaxes. But whatever problems the local government may be having will soon be irrelevant if this virus is not stopped! Nearly half of our navy is disabled or damaged and forbidden from docking for repairs. We have had to call off the majority of our current assault plans. This is a direct order to give the destruction of this virus the highest priority. These Mrlssi must not be allowed to stand in your way. You must clear them from the area and destroy the virus by any possible means.”

            “It will be done.” said a voice behind him.

            Rex turned, startled to see Echo hefting his rifle, eyes fixed on the projection of Palpatine until it disappeared. A shot exploded loudly and a flurry of yellow feathers scattered next to Rex as the Mrlssi crumpled to the floor.

            “ _No!_ ” Rex cried, as the other three Mrlssi erupted into a chorus of terrified squawks that turned into piercing inhuman cries as Echo shot them down in quick succession. Rex's hands shook on his pistols as he ripped them from the holsters, but Echo had already torn the device from his head and charged from the room, RC-7723's stun bolt hitting the closing door.

            “ _Echo, NO!_ ” Rex chased after him, with RC-7723 and their scout commando on his heels. Rex couldn't see Echo, but the scout was leading the way, presumably able to keep tabs on his position through their mental link.

            “Can you stop him?!” Rex cried.

            “No,” RC-7723 said. “He's heading for a section of the facility that has returned to activity.”

            “We have to reach him before he kills anyone else! That's an order!”

            They increased their pace, practically sliding on the tiled floor as they turned corners. Rex was barely aware of where they were going, simply following the commandos as they led him forward.

            “There he is!” RC-7723 said as they hooked around another corner only to catch a glimpse of Echo as he disappeared through a doorway to the right. Blaster fire erupted and Rex and the commandos charged into the scene, spraying stun beams as rapidly as they could into a cluttered work room filled with Mrlssi. Echo was still standing, and now as the Mrlssi in front of him wobbled and fell, he shot two of them right between the eyes at close range. Like an execution.

            “NO, _ECHO!”_ Rex slammed into his side, his horrified momentum from charging in carrying him too far, too fast when he’d meant to fire. Echo thrust the length of the rifle against Rex’s chest to throw him off. As Rex staggered backward, he caught half a second’s look at the end of Echo’s rifle before the light flashed in his eyes and lanced through his chest, the pain blasting out his vision for a moment, all his sense of direction and balance lost. All he knew was that he was falling and he couldn’t breathe.

            He thought of Fives and the hole in his chest, and a second deafening blast of pain pushed a scream from him that choked off in a strangled gurgle as a convulsion radiated from his right side. His damaged lung struggling to give fuel to his voice, he panted shallowly between the sounds of pain and choked on his own breath, a heaving cough wrenching at the wound inside his chest as if someone were raking hooks through his ribs.

            “Captain!” A commando helmet hovered over him and Rex realized he was on his back. “ARC-Zero-Four-Zero-Eight has been neutralized. The Mrlssi within firing range are all unconscious or dead.”

            “D—” Rex heaved a ragged breath and another wave of pain choked him and made his jaw seize up. He struggled to wrench it apart. “Don—t kill. Don’t kill him!” The world was shaking, still spinning. Nothing stayed still—the lights were too bright, and everything was blurry except the spear of light glinting off the commando’s helmet.

            “He’s stunned, sir. What are your orders?”

            Rex panted in agony, feeling the weight of their loss and the identity of the enemy grip his heart in terror. Their one hope to stopping this madness was gone as soon as it arrived, extinguished unwittingly by none other than the master behind this entire conspiracy. In his pain, everything suddenly felt pointless; his entire life... this entire war... was a lie.

            “C…carry—” Rex wheezed, shuddering, “back… to the medical lab. Echo too.”

            He tried to lift his arm as RC-7723 reached for him and stabbed a hypo into his neck, but his body seized again at the explosion of pain in his shoulder, a firework of needles radiating back into his chest, down his arm, and up into his head. A gasp of air burst from his throat and through his teeth, turning into a sharp groan.

            “Hurry,” he cried, struggling to control the gulping breaths he was taking—each cough felt like a knife. “Bef—fore they wake u- _AGH!_ ”

            It was all Rex could manage to keep the scream quiet this time as the commando pulled him up in a fireman carry. Dazed, he tried to catch his breath and take stock once RC-7723 was back on his feet, but lifting his head even a fraction felt impossible—his neck and head shook wildly with the attempt, and the shaking spread to his whole body as the commando hurried down the hall.

            He was going to die, Rex realized. Just like Fives. This must have been what it felt like. He was going to die knowing that he was the only one who knew the truth, knowing his brothers would continue to fight and spill blood in a war that was nothing but a game... that his General, and all the other Jedi he had been honored to serve with, were surely going to be shot in the back by their allies, and in their last moments feel nothing but betrayal from those they had counted as friends. And beyond, the future of the Republic felt like a black smear. There was nothing anyone could do. With his death, the truth would also die.

            The trip back to the lab was uninterrupted, but it passed in interminable increments, measured by each of the commando’s steps jarring through Rex’s body like an electric shock. He struggled to think ahead, hazy from the drug, but his mind could only focus on the same thoughts over and over. _We have to kill the chip. I have to live. I have to tell someone._

            The darkness of the last hallway gave way to piercing brightness again, and with one last nauseating movement, Rex was on a bed, staring up at the ceiling again, and he suddenly couldn’t catch even a tiny breath.

            “I—” he wheezed faintly with the miniscule amount of air left in his lungs, struggling to prop an elbow behind him. “I can’t—br—”

            RC-7723 adjusted the bed’s tilt and set about removing his armor. Rex struggled back from the edge of unconsciousness with short, violent gasps and realized he probably had seconds left.

            “Echo?” Black specks were swarming his vision. Each breath wheezed on the way in, and he gulped against a wave of nausea.

            “He's here, sir. Should we keep him sedated?”

            “Listen to me!” Rex struggled to stay focused on the commando as he cut Rex’s top open and sealed the hole in his chest with a medical patch from his supplies. “No matter what… you have to tell Echo! You have to tell him everything and— _you have to stop this_.”

            “Echo may not return to himself after he awakes,” said the commando, pulling him forward to get at the exit wound.

            “You have—to make him!” Rex coughed and tried to speak quickly between breaths. “After that—you must tell him. Everything. He'll know—what to do!”

            Rex struggled to keep his eyes open, his voice weakening. “That chip is a threat. To the Republic. The Jedi. Everyone. Chancellor Palpatine... he's the one behind this... he's going to kill the Jedi....”

            He still didn't know if the squad understood how important this was, or if they believed the facts at all despite witnessing everything they had. Maybe seeing Echo go ballistic like that changed their mind. He had no choice but to hope they would take this as seriously as him. Echo... would know... he'd know.

            “ _He’s_ the one who controls us,” Rex choked out, fighting off the blackness. “With the chip. He's a traitor. _Don’t_ let _anyone_ else hear about this. Especially not anyone connected to the Chancellor!”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Rex shut his eyes, unable to say more, his conscience dimming. The last thing he felt was the icy fear of the inevitable as the quiet darkness seeped into him with a strength that was impossible to fight.

 


	10. Chapter 10

            Echo was aware of himself, but only just. He could barely form cohesive thoughts. Images were flooding through his mind with crisp clarity, but disappearing as quickly as they came before he could make sense of them. And then the images stopped, and he felt like he had gone into an unconscious blackness.... but he wasn't unconscious! Was he in a coma? He remembered things... actions, words, things he thought he had done, but the memories felt distant and impersonal, like he had merely witnessed them, and he wasn't sure when. And how heavy his body felt.

            Suddenly Echo realized he was awake, and opened his eyes. White light flooded into them and his first thought was that he must be on Kamino. Everything was blurred.

            A shadow fell over him and instinctually he recoiled, attempting to get into a defensive position, but his body was sluggish and his limbs seemed to barely obey.

            “Sir!” A voice said. A clone voice. At least he knew that much. “Don't move.”

            Echo swallowed but his throat still felt dry. “What's going on—where am I?” His own voice sounded foreign in his ears, low, parched. The sound of it triggered a collection of memories that he was certain must go together: a commando unit, a kind of digital telepathy, endless tests administered by Kaminoans... a rainy city, feathered aliens, and... Rex. Captain Rex. Echo jerked, someone's hand coming to rest on his shoulder. Rex... Rex was dead. Echo weakened as he saw it in his mind's eye, the hole in his captain's chest, him falling and getting shot again, crying in agony in a way Echo had heard too many times in his life coming out of the mouths of dead men. And... Echo realized that it was he who was the one with his hand on the trigger.

            Echo's chest heaved and he felt he couldn't get oxygen. He panted, and his lungs felt like they were collapsing. The sensation was painfully familiar.

            “Sir,” the clone said again, putting a hand on his chest. “Are you alright?”

            Echo looked at him, looked through the hazy blur, and realized the man had been talking. “W....”

            “We're in Drann. How do you feel?”

            “D.... I killed... I killed Rex...” Echo gulped. “ _When?_ ”

            “The Captain isn't dead,” the clone said. “Are your motor systems functioning?”

            “My... my what?” Echo swallowed again and tried to move his hand. The muscles in his arm contracted beneath the skin but nothing happened. “I don't understand what's going on. I can't....”

            Suddenly all of his muscles seized up, but as soon as the feeling came, it was gone, and he realized he could move again. He lifted his hand and brought it in front of his face. The light of the room was still so bright.

            “Sorry, Sir. We're attempting to restore your systems incrementally without triggering the chip.”

            “When did I.... where's Rex?”

            “He's here.”

            “Where?!” Echo spun around and his surroundings meshed together in a nauseating way. “Rex?”

            “He's not conscious. Are you experiencing any other physical malfunctions?”

            “What are you—why are you talking like that?” Echo turned back to the voice. “No, I... I can't see right, everything's—oh, wait, I can now.”

            “Very good,” the clone said, and Echo finally saw that he looked very young but was wearing black commando armor.

            “You... I remember you.” He realized there were two others just like him in the room. “Diode Squad. But something's different.”

            “Sorry, sir. We limited our link to a one-way network, and of the most restricted kind. We judged it to be the safest, given the circumstances.... your side is receiving only.”

            Echo put a hand to his head and felt the implant. Memories fell into place. “I'm....” He glanced at Rex, finally getting a clear look at him and his throat tightened. “I don't understand....” He pushed himself off the bed and stepped unsteadily to Rex's side.

            He didn't look good. The blaster wounds were patched up but his skin was a lifeless shade of gray, his lips faintly blue. Echo put his fingertips on Rex's neck and was almost surprised to feel a pulse. He leaned down and could hear a faint wheeze underneath his shallow breathing.

            Echo closed his eyes. “Is he going to live?”

            “If he gets professional medical attention soon enough, he should live,” the clone said. “But sir, there was something really important—”

            “We must call General Skywalker.”

            “Sir, we haven't finished the mission.”

            Echo clenched his fists. “What mission? We need to regroup, clearly. Are there any others but us in this room?”

            “There is one member of Diode Squad outside of the facility. The mission is to destroy the computer virus that's disabling the Republic Navy.”

            Yes, now Echo remembered. “We did, didn't we? We found the terminal.”

            “No, you—Sir, Captain Rex was very insistent that we tell you about the chip, the chip installed by the Chancellor to kill the Jedi.”

            Echo did a double take at the commando. “ _W-what?!_ ”

            “You shot the Captain because of the chip.”

            “ _What chip?_ The Chancellor would never turn on the Jedi. They're the ones leading his army!” Echo would have laughed if the idea wasn't so horrific.

            “I don't understand it either, sir, but the Captain insisted that I tell you this. He said you would know what to do.”

            Echo blinked hard and shook his head. “No... I'm afraid I don't... understand what you're talking about.”

            The young clone looked away for a moment, then said, “I will transfer our memories of the events since your chip was triggered.”

            Echo looked from the commando to Rex, and realized he now remembered things, could see himself, mostly doing nothing but sitting and staring off blankly. He saw the hologram of the Chancellor and heard his own rasping voice affirming the Chancellor's vague orders, and saw himself going on to execute them with brutal efficiency. He shot the Mrlssi scientists, and saw his body fall to a stun bolt after taking down Rex. None of it made sense... it didn't! He tried to focus but the memories swarmed around each other in a dizzying array. Echo wasn't even sure which ones came first but for the embedded time stamp.

            “I need to talk to Rex,” he said, desperate for some voice of reason to cut through this stifling confusion. “I need to know what happened to me.”

            The commando half shrugged. “He'll be out for another hour at least on that hypo. He seemed to be in a lot of pain. Sir, we must complete the mission.”

            “The mission,” Echo breathed. “The computer virus... but the Mrlssi....”

            “We _must_ complete this no matter the opposition.”

            Echo swallowed again and looked at the commando's face. It was set in a determined frown. He caught from the memories that had been transferred to him a sense that the commandos were intimidated by completing the mission without him. They didn't think they could do it. But right now Echo didn't think _he_ could do it. He barely understood their memories of him. He had been so detached and unemotional. Why...? He felt the answer was somewhere right in front of him, and that all of this made sense and was clear and obvious, but every time he tried to focus, the words and images he was sure were there slipped further away.

            Then Echo heard a beep. And there it was again. He looked around and realized it was coming from a holoprojector in a box on Rex's belt. He pulled it out and immediately General Skywalker's form appeared.

            “General,” Echo said weakly.

            “Echo? You are Echo, aren't you? Where's Rex?” The General's voice was stern and impatient.

            “Yes, sir. Rex is....” he faltered.

            “What...? Echo, _what_?”

            Echo wasn't sure how to say it.

            “... is he... dead?” Skywalker's face was impossible to make out, but his voice weakened. “Echo—”

            “No! He's not dead! Not yet. I... he... he was shot, sir, shot twice. He's sedated but he needs medical attention.”

            Skywalker's voice hardened again. “Did you destroy the virus?”

            “No, sir, but—”

            “Rrghh! This isn't _good enough!_ ”

            “General, I'm not sure we can.” He glanced at the commando next to him, whose eyes bored into his in disapproval. “The truth is... something went wrong, really wrong, with me... a... malfunction... and I'm unable to complete this mission. I'm... I'm sorry. I don't think Diode Squad can do it without me. I recommend a new approach to taking this virus out. The Mrlssi are going to be hostile now.”

            The General's stance was rigid, his face downcast, his fists clenched.

            “Can you extract yourselves or do you need an assist,” he said in a bitter monotone.

            Echo looked at Rex propped up like a dead man on the bed, the patches on his chest, his ill complexion, and sighed. “We'll need a pick up and a medic. I'll transmit the coordinates, sir.”

            Skywalker was shaking his head as the hologram disappeared. Echo stared at the holoprojector, aware of a ringing in his ears. Sometimes missions failed. Sometimes you couldn't do anything about it. The General would understand.

...

            Rex came abruptly out of sleep, unable to remember falling into it. He was on a ship.

            “Rex,” someone said. It was Skywalker. He came into Rex's line of vision. “Good, you're awake.” He relaxed and almost laughed. “I was afraid you actually might not come back this time.”

            “General,” Rex said, a thick drugged daze interfering with his attempt to become alert. He felt pain in his chest but it seemed far away. Suddenly his latest memories came back to him and his blood turned to ice. Echo... the gunshots... _the chip_.

_He was still alive to stop this._

            Skywalker was waiting for him to go on, but Rex wasn't sure what to say. “The mission...?”

            Rex could read everything in Skywalker's face. They had failed. Every aspect of this mission had failed.

            “We'll talk about that,” the General said solemnly. “I'm glad you're still with us, Rex.” He stood up and stepped a few paces to the door. “Admiral Bet is asking for an immediate debriefing, but... I can tell her the medical droid wouldn’t let me wake you.”

            Rex took a deep breath, the fog in his head already beginning to clear. “I... I'm ready sir.”

            He tried to sit up, putting an elbow beneath him, and grunted as, despite the painkillers, a heavy spreading pain moved through his chest like being crushed by heavy spikes. His arm shook and he fell back against the bed, panting, a chilly sweat prickling on his neck and head.

            Skywalker’s forehead creased. “Easy, Rex… I’m sure we can hold the debriefing in here. I’ll have the room secured.”

            The med droid tittered and helped him sit up as Echo and all four members of Diode Squad entered the room. Rex wondered if he imagined that Echo was avoiding eye contact. Skywalker shut and locked the door behind them before pulling out his holoprojector, then he set it down on a cart by Rex’s bed. After a few moments, Admiral Bet and Admiral Konneck appeared.

            “Is the channel secure?” asked Admiral Bet.

            “Yes, Admiral,” said the General.

            “Very good,” said Bet calmly. “Well, let's begin the debriefing....” She sighed. “First of all, let me just say that I am extremely disappointed in the outcome of this mission, although I understand there were unforeseen circumstances involved. Captain Rex, you came to this mission highly recommended for your years of courage, adaptability, and experience with situations where discretion was necessary. I would have expected better of such a renowned officer.”

            Rex felt a heaviness overtake the chill in his stomach. He knew she could say nothing less. From the outside, this situation looked like it had been completely awash in ineptitude, and he wasn't sure how he could explain the events to the Admiral without mentioning the chip or getting Echo sent straight back to Kamino for termination or further experimentation.

            “Captain, I request your account of the events leading up to your first encounter with the Mrlssi scientists.”

            “Yes sir,” said Rex, concentrating on the early events of the mission. They felt weeks old. “We were dropped off just inside the fence and hiked into the city, about three klicks. We didn’t encounter anyone on the way in. Once we reached the edge of the city, Echo led us to the nearest computer terminal he was aware of. It was located on an upper floor of a residential building. We inspected the terminal but it didn't contain the virus. Diode Squad then disabled it and we continued on to where other signals were transmitting. From the outside, it was impossible to tell what the building was, but there were many Mrssli around it, entering and exiting. We decided to wait until the hour grew later. Once one of our scouts reported that the numbers had diminished, we entered by a side door into an unused work room. We followed the signal until it took us into a decontamination unit. On the other side of the unit, the building was clean and sterile. It was immediately clear that Mrssli were still in the building in the areas we needed to go, but we still weren't aware that this was an active lab.”

            “Any further observations… Echo?” asked the Admiral.

            “Sir. We will transfer our digitized observations of the facility at your request.”

            “Please do,” said Bet darkly.

            “Yes, Admiral.”

            “Alright, Captain,” she said. “Please continue.”

            “Sir. We decided the best way to clear the Mrssli from the area where the virus seemed to be transmitting was to trigger a local biocontamination alarm already installed in the facility's system.”

            “Seems like a rather loud way to stay undetected,” Bet sighed.

            “It seemed to be the most effective option at the time, sir,” Rex said simply. “We needed to ensure that they would stay out of the area long enough for us to do our job.”

            “And did they?” Bet folded her arms.

            Rex glanced at General Skywalker. The General’s eyebrow twitched and Rex couldn’t tell if it was aimed at him or at the Admiral’s accusatory tone of voice. He took a deep breath.

            “Yes, Admiral. Once we were in that area, I was certain that the facility had the capability to be manufacturing a biological weapon, and the evidence was plenty suggestive. We located what we thought was the source of the virus without being detected, but when Echo connected with the local network it was transmitting from, his implant malfunctioned, and a member of Diode Squad informed me that the terminal was a decoy.”

            “Malfunctioned?” Konneck frowned. “In what way?”

            “He became completely unresponsive, sir. He wouldn’t focus on any of us, or respond to commands.”

            “Curious. Were the Mrlssi alerted to your presence through the computer network?”

            “It's... possible, sir. I wasn't sure what to do with Echo, so when the commandos located a small medical lab on the ground floor, we took Echo there. But on the way, we were ambushed by Mrlssi in a hallway we thought was deserted. They had blasters, and one of our men was shot in the foot, but we managed to make it to the lab without any further injury. We used stun beams on the Mrlssi, but the effects didn’t last very long. They surrounded the door a few minutes later and tried to talk us into surrendering.”

            Rex took a deep breath.

            “After our brief communication, sir, I tried to reason with the Mrlssi and gain their support in helping us to remove the virus, which they claimed they had no knowledge of. I felt a show of trust was needed and let them into the room once they seemed willing to listen. I told them of our problem and... and they went to talk with the rest of their kind in the facility. It took a very long time to get a reply, time that I understand could have been put to use destroying the virus ourselves, but I decided that completing the mission peacefully was the best option now that we had been detected, even if it did take longer.”

            Bet raised an eyebrow with a frown, though not at Rex or anyone else, seeming to consider his story. Rex was glad at this moment that Diode Squad never had any expression. “Go on,” Bet said.

            “When the Mrssli came back, they appeared friendly, but then unexpectedly they drew weapons on us. I was shot but Diode Squad managed to subdue them after a brief altercation. Then, as you know, General Skywalker and his troops extracted us after a brief firefight. That is essentially what happened. I understand that Diode Squad repaired Echo's malfunction while I was unconscious, sir.”

            There was an awkward silence wherein Bet just shook her head. Rex was all too aware of Skywalker's eyes on him, and he desperately hoped he would keep silent until the briefing was completed.

            “This situation is not good, to say the least,” Bet sighed. “As I said, it is disappointing that you were not more successful with this, given the state of the Navy but at the same time... your actions are understandable to a point. It's unfortunate that Diode Squad is not all that was promised.”

            “Diode Squad is still experimental, Admiral,” Echo said softly, surprising Rex. He seemed... different.

            Bet shook her head again and crossed her arms. “We shall have to take things into our own hands. We are out of time to find a diplomatic way of stopping the virus. Now that we know exactly where it's transmitting from, I expect short work of it.”

            “What?” Skywalker said. “What do you mean?”

            “We haven't found any further information on who is responsible for this facility. If the Captain's report is accurate, and I have no reason to doubt it is, we cannot have such a project happening on Anaxes, especially if it's intended to be used against us. It might be that the Mrlssi have organized and decided to strike back at us for years of what they see as oppression, but... I sense a larger hand behind this.”

            The General sighed. “The Chancellor did recently tell me explicitly that he had no knowledge of any lab, and that he wasn't worried about what the Mrlssi thought they were accomplishing. All he cares about is seeing that computer virus _gone_.”

            “As do we all,” Bet said. “And that is exactly why we are done dancing around this issue. Politically, the presence of this facility will condemn the Mrlssi in the eyes of the Anaxsi people, and Diode Squad's visual reports will be evidence enough for them. And on that note, we must finish this, so I will bid you and your troopers goodbye, General Skywalker.” Bet lifted one hand. “I won't say 'good job' but at least you brought these actions to our knowledge.”

            “The Anaxsi government thanks you,” added Konneck. “May you heal quickly, Captain.”

            Skywalker bowed his head to the Admiral and the holoprojector went out. The sudden relief of knowing the Admirals accepted his report hit Rex and he exhaled slowly. But then he caught the General's eye and knew things weren't over yet.

            “I’m sorry, again, General,” Echo said, and Rex realized he sounded aggrieved. “I never expected to malfunction and compromise the mission.”

            “I know you didn’t,” Skywalker said, putting a hand on Echo’s shoulder. But his eyes were on Rex, and the doubtful look on his face was hard to ignore.

            Anakin pocketed the holoprojector and gave Echo a forced smile.

            “Why don’t you and your squad go get some rest,” he said, in a voice that obviously meant _clear out, troopers_.

            “Yes, sir,” Echo said, with an uneasy glance at Rex. It was the first time he had looked at him.

            Skywalker watched them go. The moment they were out the door, his face relaxed out of its affected pleasantry. He turned back toward the hospital bed.

            “Rex,” he said seriously, “Admiral Bet may have bought your tale, and I only pray you had a good reason for _lying_ _to an Admiral of the Republic Navy_ , but I will not have you lying to me.”

            Rex cast his eyes down and sighed. He tried to remind himself that no matter what the General said, everything he had done and would do was for the good of the Republic.

            “What really happened, Rex? And why are you keeping it to yourself? ...It's Echo, isn't it?”

            “I....”

            “You're protecting him. There's more to this malfunction than you're saying—he... Rex, _was he the one who shot you?_ ” Skywalker's voice took on notes of both outrage and shock.

            “Yes, sir,” Rex said miserably.

            Skywalker didn't say anything immediately. He merely paced a few feet then turned back toward Rex, aggressively grasping the bar at the end of his bed.

            “Is there _more_ you're not telling me?”

            “Yes, sir” Rex looked up at Skywalker on the end of his bed and their eyes met.

            “I don’t want a ‘yes, sir,’” he breathed. “I want answers! What’s going on with you, suddenly? You’re better than this. You were made to be better than this! And I’ve seen you deal with harder missions than this one, and you never lose your head. You’re dependable. You know the mission priorities. You _told_ me you were ready to lead this mission.”

            Rex had never seen such disappointment in his General’s face before. To see it coupled with such confusion, such surprise, knowing that the General had such trust in him, was so much worse than he imagined. He didn’t know what to say.

            “I _hope_ you didn't compromise the entire mission just because of Echo. Unfortunately, I don't know what parts of your story _are true_ ,” he said, punctuating his severe words with a pointed look. “Is it because he came back from the dead?” Skywalker waved a hand questioningly. “Is that enough to distract you? You have other brothers on the battlefield, on those ships that were being disabled by this virus.” Skywalker flung an arm up to point off in a random direction. “I _know_ you care about them. Did you risk all their lives by getting distracted by Echo's problem? You were ready to _shoot_ yourself to protect the army from the parasite from Ringo Vinda, weren’t you?”

            “General,” Rex broke in, raising a hand for a moment before his exhaustion brought it back down onto his lap. “I can explain. But I would appreciate it, sir, if you would hear me out to the end.”

            Skywalker’s face was contracted, fists at his sides. Whether he was angry or just intensely worried, it was hard to say.  “Alright. I’m listening.”

            Rex gathered himself. “The commandos didn’t find the virus in Echo’s implant. The implant was in conflict with another device. It was his inhibitor chip, sir.”

            Skywalker began shaking his head slowly, his jaw clenched.

            Rex pressed on steadily. “I asked them to analyze what it was designed to do. They said it was putting him into some sort of hypnosis… something about the exposure to the virus, or the transmitter, made his chip activate. They said it was like he was on standby. We couldn’t get him to respond to anything. I thought, when I called you, that maybe it was nothing to worry about after all. His behavior didn’t change when he saw a Jedi, not like Tup did. And we did negotiate with the Mrlssi, and they said they would help us investigate the chip—”

            “You _what?!_ ” Skywalker blurted, aghast. “Rex, the Mrlssi are our enemies! They can't be trusted! How could you risk the security of the Republic like this? If they found a way to create a biogenic weapon that would work against clone troopers—”

            “It was the only way!” Rex cut him off. “I had to know the truth! I can't get what Fives said out of my head. I've _tried_ , General, I have! This was a chance to learn more and I had to take it.” Rex panted, reeling from the experience of arguing with Skywalker about such a terrible thing. Skywalker was looking at him as if he barely knew him. Rex swallowed and pushed on. “After some time, they said... well... one of them said they could manufacture a contagion that would disable the chips—”

            “Rex, you didn't,” Skywalker warned darkly. 

            “It doesn't matter now.... After you sent us that message from the Chancellor—” Skywalker’s eyes locked onto him with intense disbelief and Rex hurried to finish “—that was when Echo went crazy. He responded to it like it was a direct order to go and kill the Mrlssi. And he did shoot me, General, when I tried to stop him—”

            “ _No._ ” Skywalker’s voice had the same hard-edged quality it had taken on in the face of Fives’ accusations. “You listen to me. You keep trying to find evidence against the Chancellor, and I won’t be able to protect you anymore! I _know_ you’re not a traitor, Rex. You’re just….” He blew out a breath. “You’re just confused.” The General paused, agitated, not looking at him. He pinched the bridge of his nose in a very General-Kenobi-like movement, and his voice softened. “Look, I know it’s not easy, what you went through with Fives. And maybe Echo coming back… just brings up more of the same kinds of memories. I know it’s been hard! But I need you to be honest with me, and I need you to _listen_ to me. There is _no—conspiracy_ —!”

            Rex was sure that if he hadn’t been injured, the General’s violent jabs at the air with his finger would have landed right on his chest.

            “General,” he said softly. “I’m just… reporting what I learned during the mission….”

            “I know you trusted Fives,” Skywalker went on. “But you’ve got to accept that he was sick! He was out of his mind.”

            “I would, sir, if there weren’t evidence like this! How can you ignore this possibility? General… you know I wouldn’t keep pursuing this if I didn’t think it was a real and imminent threat.”

            “I know. I know you think you’re doing the right thing,” Skywalker said dully, teeth gritted. “Normally, that would be enough. But I don’t know if I can trust your judgment any more. It’s too clouded by your emotions.”

            Rex stared back at him, shocked and with part of him crying out that it was the General whose judgment was clouded. But the rest of him flinched for a moment, wondering again if what Skywalker said was true. Skywalker was a Jedi. He had the Force to guide his instincts, to warn him of danger, to clarify his thoughts. And he was a good Jedi, a friend, an inspiring and protective leader. How could such a great Jedi’s sense of the truth be so wrong?

            But he couldn’t dismiss what he had seen. Skywalker’s discomfort only fueled his own.

            “ _Don’t_ let this swallow you,” Skywalker said, the same pleading note in his voice as he’d had on the transit platform the night Fives had died. “You’re stronger than this, Rex. And you promised me you would never turn against me.”

            “That’s what I’m trying to _prevent_ , General,” Rex half-whispered hoarsely, finding it a struggle to breathe again, as if the sheer awful weight of his own questionable loyalty in Skywalker’s eyes was blocking his throat. “If there is someone out there who wants to control the army… to turn them against the Jedi… I can’t let that happen! I can’t let them turn me against you. Sir, _please_ ,” he struggled, unable to keep his weakened voice from shaking. “I’m only doing this… to keep the nightmares from coming _true_!”

            Skywalker straightened slowly, looked down at him with a detachment that chilled Rex to the bone.

            “Haven’t we talked about self-fulfilling prophecies, Captain? Sometimes, if you try too hard to prevent the future you fear, you create it all on your own. I think it’s pretty obvious that’s what’s happening here.”

            “No… General, I….”

            Skywalker turned toward the door, but paused a moment. “You’ve been a good friend, and a good Captain. It’s been an honor serving with you, and I always knew I could trust you to carry out any orders I gave. You always had my back, and I don’t want that to change. I need you at your best. Your real best. We have to trust each other, or no mission we serve on together will succeed. I just want you to keep that in mind.” He sighed. “I won't report this. This time. But the way the war is going... I can't afford to give you many more chances either. I've probably given you too many already. You _have_ to get past this, for everyone's sake.”

            Rex swallowed, gathering what strength had not been blown out of him by the General’s disorienting words. “Yes, sir,” he breathed in an uneven crackle, and Skywalker left the room.

…

            Rex had been confined to hospitals and medical bays several times in his life, and medical droids were always crowing in disapproval at how quickly he pushed himself to get on with his duties. Truth was, Rex couldn't stand to lie around, not when he knew others were still out there fighting and dying. He was young and fit, and that youthful energy had always served him well and put him back on his feet. But this time was different.

            He was off the heaviest of the painkillers, but Rex could barely summon the energy to complete the physical tests required by the droid. His left arm was weak and unsteady at the best of times, completely numb at the worst. Try as he might, he couldn't keep away the feeling that everything was hopeless, that his true purpose was a mockery of his beliefs, and that this was one mission that was well beyond his capabilities. These, compounded with the ever present pain and his physical limitations, were causing his droid nurse to treat him in a way that Rex could only describe as concerned.

            Currently, it was lifting his arm from the bed and shaking its head. “Not good, CT-7567, not good at all.”

            Rex jerked his arm away and sighed.

            “Seeing as this is the second injury to your left brachial plexus, we should be realistic about the prognosis.”

            “I thought you already were,” Rex snapped.

            “I was trying to be tactful,” it said. “But I'm afraid it's appearing as though you will need complete nerve reconstruction in your shoulder if you wish to use your left arm normally again.”

            Rex clenched his right fist. “How long does that take?”

            “The procedure itself is simple, but it takes several months of therapy to completely return to normal”

            “Let me guess: you've never done this on a clone before.”

            The droid took a step back and seemed to think about it. “Well, I have, but none of my patients survived long enough to complete the therapy.”

            “Great. You're telling me this is a death sentence, then.”

            “If you return to infantry duty, yes. I recommend seeking a less action oriented position until you are ready for the front.”

            “You know that's not up to me.”

            The droid picked up a tray of medical instruments and said, “yes, I shall file a report to General Skywalker. I expect to proceed with the reconstruction within the next day.” It then walked away to treat another patient.

            That was it, then. The termination of his service under Skywalker had come whether they were ready for it or not. The General might even be relieved; it meant he didn't have to make what was clearly a difficult decision. And as for himself... Rex exhaled slowly. He could barely imagine contributing to the forces in a way that didn't include having his DC-17s firmly in hand, but maybe this was for the best. He would certainly have a better chance of surviving longer. And if he could transfer to an assignment on Coruscant, he would be in a prime position to investigate the Chancellor. But he had no idea how he could procure such a position—any request he made to the General would be seen through instantly.

            And Rex still hadn't talked to Echo. Or rather, it was Echo who hadn't come to talk to him. The team Appo had led with Skywalker to find the Verpine, all of them had come to see him in twos or threes: Kix and Jesse, Singer and Index and Knees, Ice and Rabbit, Afterthought and Coe. Each little group brought tidbits of news and encouraging words, expecting to see a full recovery. But no sight or mention of Echo anywhere.

            Rex hadn't had the will to fight the droid about leaving the medical bay since he woke up those couple days ago. He knew he was in a _Venator_ -class Destroyer and that they were still orbiting Anaxes, as the droid and his visitors had told him that much, but Rex wasn't even sure Echo and Diode Squad were still on board. They knew too much—if they left before Rex got a chance to square things off with Echo, Rex would consider it a fatal weak point in his attempt to fight the Chancellor's plot undetected.

            Rex called the droid back, and when he told it his plan to walk the decks, its mechanical voice lit up with positivity. It seemed to be relieved to see him take some initiative toward exercise and socialization. After it helped Rex get dressed into his service uniform and fitted his arm into a sling, Rex left the medical bay, clenching his jaw against the almost crippling soreness in his chest.

            Venator-class Star Destroyers were big, but the area an off-duty crew member might be found was generally the lower decks only. Even if Echo and Diode Squad were gone, surely some of the crew members had noticed them at one point.

            As Rex walked along the corridors of level three, he kept an eye on the uniforms he passed. At last he saw one that indicated Major rank.

            “Excuse me, Major,” he said, keeping his voice strong as he stepped a bit into the officer’s path. The major stopped. “I’m looking for a squad of commandos. Would you happen to know if they’re still on board?”

            “Ah, right. I’ve seen ‘em around. You can double-check with the men on the flight deck. Last I heard that squad was staying on zero level, section… B-Eight? I’d have to look at the files.”

            “That’s close enough. Thank you, sir.”

            It wasn’t a long walk, but Rex already felt breathless by the time he’d reached the lift. He kept himself standing tall by the armored or uniformed clones who came in and out on level two, one… and then it was zero. A pretty busy deck, from the number of troops in the hallway, but as Rex walked along, the groups passing him queued up for the lift—probably headed for a briefing.

            Once they’d gone, the hall was quiet. Rex leaned against the wall for a moment to catch his breath, trying not to think too hard about what the med droid had said.

            “There’s more than one stall in there you know,” said a joking voice, and Rex looked up to see a grinning ARC trooper coming out of the refresher he’d happened to stop next to. “You don’t have to wait out here.”

            Rex tried to laugh but it came out more as a short sigh. “I’m looking for someone, actually.”

            “Most of us on this deck are headed up, so unless you’re looking for the commandos—”

            “I am.”

            “Oh.” The trooper gave Rex’s sling an intrigued look. “Well then, try that door. Fourth one down.” He pointed to the left side of the corridor.

            “Thanks.”

            “Are you the Captain who led them on Anaxes?”

            Rex raised an eyebrow and stepped away toward the door. “Better hurry up the lift, or you’re gonna be late.”

            The trooper shrugged and walked off. Rex went to the door he’d indicated, trying to shake off the shame that had been brought up by the relatively innocent question. He wondered how much any average soldier on this ship knew now about what had happened down there. Perhaps these men were being sent down to help clean up after him somehow.

            Rex opened the door. The room was the basic design for a five-man squad’s quarters, unadorned and with no commandos in sight. Echo was lying out of armor on one of the bunks, but he turned his head and sat up when Rex walked in.

            Rex stopped a few feet away, but Echo still didn’t speak or move anything except his eyes—a thorough sweep of his torso and sling, then away. There was the same troubled look on his face as during the briefing. Rex wondered how to begin.

            “Well,” Echo finally creaked. “I see you’re… recovering….”

            “I might be reassigned,” Rex sighed. “Which is why I need to talk to you about what happened. Is this room secure?”

            “You can lock the door.” Echo gestured hesitantly toward it with one hand.

            He turned to do just that. “Where’s your squad?”

            “They’re working out how to remove the virus from naval systems once it stops transmitting.... turns out the Verpine really was the one responsible.”

            “And you?”

            Echo’s mouth pulled tight. He shook his head at the floor, voice low and husky. “I can’t connect with any systems until my malfunction is corrected. I’m sure I’ll be sent back to Kamino any day now for repairs….”

            “And what do you plan to tell them about this malfunction?” Rex gestured for Echo to move aside so he could sit as well. He felt like he was quaking incessantly inside even though on the surface he knew he looked more or less steady.

            Echo’s forehead wrinkled and he looked away again. “I haven’t decided yet.”

            Rex sat on the edge of the bed sideways, so he could lean a little against one of the poles. “What did the squad tell you about the chip?”

            “Rex,” Echo began uncomfortably. “I’m… I don’t think you should trust me with this.”

            “Why?” Rex frowned.

            Echo sighed. “Any information I know could be removed and analyzed when I return to Kamino. I wish I could help you, but even if I understood what’s going on… even if I had a choice, it would probably do more harm than good.” His restless gaze settled on Rex’s left hand. “You’d be better off choosing someone who has a mind of his own,” he muttered.

            “I take it they didn’t tell you about the chip, then,” Rex said intently. “Because if they did, you would understand that _none_ of us are safe from what you were _made_ to do.”

            Echo just shook his head. “This wouldn’t have happened if I weren’t... like this….”

            “Like what? Like a droid?”

            Echo flinched, barely.

            “That’s not the problem here,” Rex insisted. “The fact that you’re talking to me like this now proves that you’re still yourself. You do have a choice, as much as any of the rest of us. But these chips take _away_ that choice. It wasn’t your implant. It wasn’t _you_. It was _him_.”

            Echo exhaled sharply and shook his head again. “You shouldn’t be telling me this. I don’t….” Echo clenched his fists in his lap, his voice rasping bitterly. “I don’t have any power to help you. As soon as my malfunction is repaired, it will be like none of this ever happened. I’m not going to care about any of it. You’re wasting your time with me.”

            “What do you mean you won’t care about any of it?” Rex asked, fighting down a rising desperation. “The malfunction was caused by a conflict between your implant and the chip, right? That’s what your men said.”

            “Yes.” Echo’s voice was dull. “The others have had to turn off certain functions of my implant to minimize the conflict.”

            “Like what?”

            “Well….” Echo rubbed a hand up and down one of his arms absentmindedly. “Like I said, I can’t communicate with any computer networks at the moment. When I first woke up, I couldn’t even see….”

            Rex felt sickened at remembering just how much Echo’s body was at the mercy of his implant. Echo had already suffered once through the painful process of adjusting to it, having it dictate his senses and his experience of the world. Of course he would look to it as the source of his actions on Anaxes, rather than the chip.

            “But why does any of that mean you’ll stop caring about this once your implant is functioning normally again? As I said, this did not happen because of some kind of flaw in you or your implant. We _all_ have this chip, every clone! Everyone except Diode Squad. We all have the potential to be turned into mindless killing machines. What could possibly make _that_ seem inconsequential?”

            Echo didn’t respond right away, and Rex tried to wait patiently, recognizing that Echo seemed extremely uncomfortable in his presence. At last Echo took a deep breath, still downcast.

            “You… may have noticed, before all this happened,” he began miserably, “I’m not much like the Echo you used to know. I don’t even recognize myself, to be honest. The implant is designed to regulate my brain functions, including emotion. It… does make me just like a droid.” Echo ran a hand over his face, grimacing. “Normally, I don’t really care about anything, you know. Or anyone. All that matters is following orders, getting the job done….” He breathed a quiet, mirthless laugh. “But I don’t have any pride in what I do! I don’t _care_ about my men, or the missions, or the Republic. Not like when I was human. Right now is the exception! It’s just a fluke that I feel anything about this situation, and as soon as the scientist back on Kamino figures out what’s wrong, I’ll be back to how I was before, or worse. So, I wouldn’t get your hopes up. My involvement in… whatever is going on right now, well, it’s just made things worse, hasn’t it?”

            “No,” Rex said seriously. “If this hadn’t happened, I would still be trying to convince myself that….” He hesitated, but pressed on. “That there isn’t a traitor in our midst. That the chips are harmless. I’d still be thinking _Fives_ was a traitor, just like everyone said.”

             Echo finally did look at him then, eyes wide. “Fives?” he asked faintly. “Why… why does anyone think _Fives_ is a traitor?” Echo’s face fell before Rex could reply. “You said _was_. He’s… dead, then. Isn’t he?” Echo swallowed and put his head in his hands. “Fives….”

            “I’m sorry,” Rex said quietly, giving him a moment. In the silence, he thought back for a moment to when he’d first met Echo and Fives at the Rishi outpost, and that awful mission to the Citadel where they’d left Echo behind. So many good men lost in that forsaken place, and in heinous ways. But most of them were the normal sort of terrible, almost expected. Rex was glad Echo hadn’t had to see Fives’ end.

            “What happened?” Echo said after a space of silence. He straightened to look at Rex again with a defeated expression, suddenly appearing as exhausted and hopeless as Rex felt. “Why did people call him a traitor? Was he executed? Is _that_ why he’s gone?” With each question, Echo sounded more lost.

            “Well… the story now is that he wasn’t really a traitor… just… crazy.” Rex clenched his right fist, feeling again the awful disapproval in General Skywalker’s voice. “Fives is the one who found out about the chips in the first place. His friend Tup killed one of the Jedi… General Tiplar. We were in the middle of a battle, and he just snapped and shot her.”

            Echo stared at him intently, eyebrows contracting.

            “Nobody knew what was wrong with him, so we decided to send Tup to Kamino so the doctors there could try to fix it. Fives went with him. He must have investigated while he was there. Next thing I knew, Tup was dead, and Fives was back on Coruscant. We were being ordered to hunt him down because he tried to kill the Chancellor.”

            “ _What?_ ” Echo’s voice cracked, and Rex thought he saw a flash of anger. “That’s… impossible. Fives would never do something like that!”

            “I know. When General Skywalker and I found him, he said he’d been framed. He said he had proof that the chips were designed to control the army, to make us kill Jedi. And that the Chancellor was in on this plan. But then, before he could say anything else, Commander Fox and the city guard surrounded him, and shot him down when he tried to grab a weapon to defend himself.”

            “He was killed by one of us?” Echo shook his head. “Why would… do you think Commander Fox _knew?_ ”

            “Maybe,” Rex said grimly. “He does work closely with the Chancellor. But he could have just been following orders. Fives was considered dangerous, not only as a threat to the Chancellor, but because we thought he was infected with a parasite. The Kaminoans wanted us to believe it was a parasite that made Tup go insane, and we thought Fives had it too.”

            “I can’t believe this,” Echo said under his breath, slumping where he sat. He reached up to grip the edge of the upper bunk. 

            “Fives mentioned nightmares, just before he died,” Rex said. “And a mission. I think it’s the same nightmare I have... a nightmare where I’m forced to kill Jedi. Even my own General. I asked some of the other men... we all have the same dreams, and I’m convinced it’s because of this chip. The Chancellor’s going to turn us against the Jedi, someday, and we’ll be powerless to stop it unless we remove this chip from every soldier, or destroy them somehow. Maybe with some kind of contagion like the Mrlssi suggested. That’s the only thing that would be fast enough and affect the entire army. Either that, or we have to find a way to help the Jedi stop him before he knows that we know.”

            Echo was starting to look appropriately worried, but all he said was, “If only General Skywalker hadn’t called before you went ahead with the extraction….”

            Rex felt a chill of guilty relief at remembering how close he’d come to killing Echo, and yet his hesitation had resulted in the deaths of their best hope to stop this madness.

            “Echo,” Rex said in a low, insistent voice. “We have to focus on what we can do now that the Mrlssi can’t help us anymore. _You_ could gather information on the chip from the computer systems on Kamino. You might even be able to use the medical equipment there to research how such a contagion could work. Then we have to find a scientist who’s willing to create it for us.”

            “I don’t think I’ll be able to do anything,” Echo protested, voice tight. He glared at the floor. “For all I know, my memory of this entire incident could end up being wiped. The best I can do is tell them the truth about why I malfunctioned, and suggest they remove the chip. I doubt they’d let me examine it. And they might find some other way to fix me, anyway, maybe even one that would integrate the two systems. I’m just an experiment. I’m sure a study like that would seem useful to the Kaminoans… if we all really do have this chip.”

            Rex felt sick at the thought. “We can’t give up yet. I’m hoping that if they reassign me, it will be somewhere I can keep investigating this, but I can’t count on that. You _have_ to do whatever you can to stop this. Please… at _least_ tell me you’ll try if you get a chance.”

            “I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep,” Echo muttered. “Isn’t there someone else?”

            “Who else is going to believe me? General Skywalker’s too close to the Chancellor. I tried to tell him the truth about what happened but he wouldn’t listen.”

            “It’s over then, isn't it?” Echo looked at Rex. “If he knows, he’ll probably tell, and you’ll be court-martialed.”

            “He said he wouldn’t report it,” Rex sighed. “But I can’t mention it again.”

            Silence fell between them, and Rex gathered himself for one more attempt.

            “Echo… you’re still a soldier of the Republic. You’re still one of us. We all swore to protect and serve to the best of our ability. Sometimes the odds are stacked against us. Sometimes, we make mistakes, and we fail… and our failure comes at the cost of many lives, civilians, brothers….” Rex took a deep breath. “But we… our duty remains. Better to face the consequences of acting in good faith, instead of standing by and wondering if there’s something more we could have done after we’ve all been turned against each other. I don’t know what more I can do, especially in this condition, but I am not going to just duck my head while everyone I care about is destroyed, and pretend I didn’t have a chance to stop it! Even if that chance is a million to one, it’s still a chance!”

            Rex took another deep breath, shivering. Lying down was starting to seem like a good idea again.

            “Fives gave up everything to uncover the truth. Now that I’m the only one who knows what’s really going on, I have to try and finish what he started. But I don’t think I can do it alone. I don’t know who else to turn to, and now you and your squad are the only ones who can help.”

            Echo struggled visibly, squinting at the floor.

            “If,” Echo began, and stopped to clear his throat in vain. “If I can help… if I’m still myself after this… then I’ll try.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m not sure it will make a difference, but….”

            “I know,” Rex agreed grimly. “It’s a long shot.”

            “I’ll be helpless to stop them if they decide to look deeper into any of this,” Echo sighed. “You realize that.”

            Rex felt an awful wave of helplessness. He was asking so much of Echo, when really Echo was the one who had been left alone with no one to defend him. And Rex still couldn’t help him, only lay a greater burden on his shoulders and let him fall back into the cold mercy of the Kaminoan scientists.

            “I do,” he said softly. “I understand the risk.”

            “I’ll need a way to get the information to you,” Echo said wearily. “I might be able to program a private long-range channel into your communicator.”

            “How long will that take?”

            “I’m not sure….” Echo looked embarrassed. “It’s not easy for me to focus right now. I’ll ask the squad for help if I have to. It shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”

            Rex took off his communicator and held it out. Echo slowly raised his head to look at Rex and lifted one hand to take it. Rex held on for a moment before letting Echo pull the comm away.

            “Thank you,” he said, relief and guilt and fear all roiling together in the pulsing pain of his chest.

            Echo stared back at him, and Rex thought—he hoped—he saw a small awakening of purpose or understanding in Echo’s face. A weak reflection of the trust Echo and Fives and the rest of Domino Squad had placed in him and Cody the moment they’d arrived at the Rishi outpost. Echo wasn’t a shiny anymore; this wasn’t blind confidence now. That was long gone, burned out of him. But this was something to work with, anyway.

            “The odds of us succeeding are pretty bad,” Echo looked at the comm in his hand. “But… this conversation was just as unlikely, I guess.”

            Rex managed a tiny smile at that.

            “I’ll stay in contact as long as I can,” Echo whispered.

            The ache in his lungs was starting to nauseate Rex. He stood slowly, bracing himself against the upper bunk. “I should head back to the medical bay.”

            “You don’t look so good,” Echo agreed. “But won’t they ask where your communicator is?”

            “You’re right.” Rex hesitated. “Someone might notice.”

            “Here.” Echo went to the end of his bed and pulled open the armor chest. “Take mine. If anyone calls, I’ll just answer for you. They won’t know the difference, even with my voice….”

            Rex took the offered comm and attached it to his useless arm. “Good thinking. Besides… I’m due for surgery in the next day. Who knows, I could be sleeping.”

            Echo nodded. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

            Anakin stood on the command deck of the Destroyer and listened as the reports rolled in over the comm lines.

            “Weapons and shield systems functional. All tests are a success. All clear here aboard the _Inevitable_.”

            “This is the _Gatekeeper_ , all systems functional!”

            “ _Luminance_ , signing in, all systems go!”

            Triumph and relief rang clear in many of the voices, beneath the rote phrases they were calling in from all across the system and beyond.

            “Congratulations, men,” Anakin said to Diode Squad, who were standing as motionless and silent as ever a few feet away. “Looks like you just saved the entire navy.”

            “Yes, sir,” they said together.

           “Thank you, sir,” said one.

            Anakin tried not to make a face at how he couldn’t detect even a small note of excitement in their voices. He thought of Rex, still recovering from the reconstructive surgery on his shoulder—at least _he_ should be glad to hear that the botched mission had been saved at last.

            And there were cheers from around the command deck, from those seated at ops, members of the crew who had flown into and out of battles never knowing if this was the moment their shields were going to fail as soon as they fired a shot.

            As the noise died down, Anakin realized Appo was calling him over the comm link.

            “General, Admiral Tarkin just docked and requested to speak with you. He’s waiting in briefing room C-Two.”

            “I’ll be right there.”

            As he sped through the corridors with long strides, he wondered what was so important that the Admiral had come to his ship in person. Anakin had been in consistent contact with Anaxsi leadership about the virus situation. Hopefully this was merely a passing on of his next assignment.

            When he arrived at the briefing room, Tarkin was standing with typical ramrod straightness, hands behind his back.

            “Admiral,” Anakin greeted him cheerfully, before locking the door. “What can I do for you?”

            Tarkin narrowed his eyes and inclined his head as if Anakin had insulted him. “General Skywalker, are you aware of the alarming actions the Anaxsi have recently taken against the Mrlssi?”

            “Uh, you mean shut down their bioweapon research facility? The one which also happens to be the source of the virus?” Anakin raised an eyebrow. “What’s so alarming about that? The fleets are finally ready to move out again!”

            “I see,” Tarkin said coldly. “So… you did not see fit to inquire _how_ they planned to neutralize this facility?”

            “I respect their right to handle affairs on their own planet.” Anakin folded his arms, unsettled by the accusing tone in Tarkin’s voice. “In accordance with the laws of the Republic, of course.”

            “The Mrlssi government will not agree that this… _affair_ was handled justly, I think. The scientists were most certainly killed inside the facility when it _imploded_ today, and were given no warning.” Tarkin’s voice began to rise, getting more agitated. “Regardless of the threat their research posed to us, how do you think this incident will reflect upon the image of the Republic to other worlds who may be wavering in their support? The Mrlssi are very influential among the Galactic scientific community and may not be so eager to remain loyal after word of this reaches them!”

            “That would be unfortunate,” Anakin said slowly, giving Tarkin a questioning stare. “Is there a reason you’re talking to me about this and not the Anaxsi military?”

            “I’m astonished you even have to ask,” Tarkin seethed. “Was it not your Captain who disobeyed orders and incited the Mrlssi to defensive action in the first place? His orders were to remain undetected, correct?”

            “Yes….”

            “And if it had not been for his overwhelming incompetence, the Anaxsi government would not have been forced to take such drastic action! They could have been arrested and brought to trial; the facility could have been locked down by a more _qualified_ special operations team rather than crushed into oblivion! But instead, the Republic is now complicit in an interplanetary incident which may cost us the technical and military support of multiple systems!”

            “I understand your concern, Admiral.” Anakin was careful to keep his voice even, trying hard to level out the rising indignation that made him want to yell. “Captain Rex will be reassigned as soon as he is fit for duty.”

            “He will be reconditioned,” Tarkin corrected. “There is obviously a flaw in his training, and as he was the weak link in this team, he will no doubt be the same in any team he works—”

            “ _What?_ Hold on! Rex has an outstanding record of service up to this point! He doesn’t _need_ to be reconditioned! So he made a mistake. A big one. But even the Anaxsi officers in charge of the mission agreed that we have to consider the circumstances!”

            “Sentiment like this does not suit you, Skywalker.” Tarkin gave him a dissatisfied frown. “The _circumstances are_ that your former Captain was trusted with the lives of countless members of the Republic navy, as well as the lives of the Mrlssi and the men on his own team. He has proven himself undeserving of your confidence. I have already submitted my report to high command and received authorization to order his return to Kamino as soon as possible. I suggest you give some thought to his replacement. Sergeant Appo seems to have served you well.”

            Anakin gritted his teeth, frustrated at how hard this was hitting him. He knew Rex’s prognosis, and yet somehow he had hoped there might still be a way to prevent his reassignment. “It’ll be a while. He’s still recovering from his injuries.”

            “Oh, I assure you,” Tarkin smiled coldly, “The facilities on Kamino will be able to take care of him much better than what you have here.”

            Anakin lowered his head defensively. “Admiral, you worked with Rex on the Citadel mission. You saw how competent he is. But you support this decision? We need captains like him now more than ever! Rex has _never_ let me down before. He’s my responsibility; I should have a say in what happens to him.”

            Tarkin almost looked amused. “You and the other Jedi may be part of this army, General, but the clones under your command belong to the Republic, not to you. You cannot claim any rights of ownership. They are servants of the Republic and as such will be distributed in whatever way is most useful to the war effort. _I_ thought you were anxious for this war to end quickly!”

            “I am.” Anakin stared stubbornly back into Tarkin’s pitiless eyes. “But I think that command is making a mistake in this case.”

            “Your concerns are noted. I will notify Tipoca City to expect your former Captain within the next week. In the meantime, you and the Five-Hundred-First are to prepare to assist in the assault on Clak’dor Seven.”

            Anakin kept his mouth shut as he accepted the orders from Tarkin. He had admired the Admiral’s practical views on the war when they’d first met, but after Ahsoka’s trial, and now this, his patience with the Admiral’s tactless and uncompromising approach was fraying into true dislike. 

            He hated to think what Rex would say when he heard the news. But better to tell him as soon as possible. Outwardly, he reviewed the mission information calmly, his mind going through the motions of planning out each move. But deep down, beneath it all, he began bracing himself to lose another friend.

…

            After coming out of surgery and the post-surgery bacta soak, Rex had not felt optimistic about his arm. He was sleepy and disoriented from the anesthesia. It hurt too much to move his arm much at all those first few days, although his droid nurse periodically helped him through some very gentle exercises which were, in Rex’s opinion, barely fit to be called exercises. More like a thrice-daily ritual of “try moving it a little further this time.” It promised these movements would get more complex as he progressed to the later stages of his recovery plan.

            Then the sleepiness had worn off. His lungs had continued to heal as he slept, and he found it a little easier now to walk long distances in the halls. And a few days later, out from under the nurse’s watchful photoreceptors, Rex held a DC-17 in his shaking left hand—arm excruciatingly extended to its full length—braced it with his right, and shot the target taped on the opposite wall of Echo’s room. 

            “That’s a hit,” Echo said.

            “Only at short range,” Rex muttered. “And all this one did was squeeze the trigger.” He looked at his visibly shaking left arm and slowly coiled it back toward his chest where it seemed to think it belonged.

            “You’re only a few days post-op,” said Echo. “I shouldn’t have even let you do this.”

            “No… I need to know how far I still have to go,” Rex sighed. “A long way, I think.”

            Echo was silent, and Rex wondered if he was feeling guilty again.

            “I’m sure I’ll heal quickly enough,” he added quietly. Not as quickly as he wanted to, never. But enough to survive.

            “I’ll be leaving for Kamino soon,” Echo said, taking the DC-17 from him. “Now that the virus is taken care of.”

          “I know….” Rex looked down at the communicator Echo had modified for him. “I’ll let you know where—”

            His communicator was beeping.

            “Rex? Where are you?” It was General Skywalker.

            “Zero level, sir.”

            “Come back to the medical bay. I have some news,” he said wearily.

            “Right away, sir.” Rex closed the channel, trying not to speculate on what news this might be, and looked up at Echo, who seemed concerned. “I’ll see you again before you leave.”

            Echo just nodded.

            Rex walked out, passing identical faces without recognizing any of them. When he opened the door to the medical bay, General Skywalker had a stony look to his face that instantly made Rex’s heart drop into his stomach.

            “Did something go wrong with the anti-virus, sir?”

            “No… not exactly.”

His eyes were on Rex’s chest and shoulder, as if still expecting to see evidence of his wounds seeping up from under his service uniform. He sighed quietly. “I’ve been contacted by high command. A decision… has been reached.”

            “Is it… about my reassignment, sir?” Rex had been expecting as much, but it still stung to think about.

            Skywalker's eyebrows pulled together and he still wouldn’t meet Rex’s eyes. “I’ve been ordered to send you back to Kamino for reconditioning. I’m sorry, Rex.”

            “Oh… I understand, sir,” Rex heard himself say, numbly wondering why he was lying, and how the General expected him to believe such a ridiculous thing. Reconditioning was for defective clones. Clones who needed to be retrained from scratch, with new memories and a new identity. Clones who weren’t right in the head, or who just weren’t up to the stress of the battlefield. His hands felt cold.

            “I tried to talk them out of it,” Skywalker said, some dismay creeping into his voice. “But they wouldn’t back down. Apparently, the fact that the Anaxsi military completely destroyed that research facility along with the Mrlssi inside, well… that might lose us some important allies. It’s going to cause problems… big problems. It was one mistake too many. You’ve been declared unfit for duty, even once your injuries heal.”

            Rex couldn’t think straight. He hadn't considered that his bad performance on Anaxes was still being analyzed, mulled over by the powers that be. Admiral Bet had understood. Konneck had wished him well. Rex wanted to ask how this was possible, but the moment the thought crossed his mind, he knew that to voice it out loud would only dig a deeper hole for him to fall into. And it was certainly no use to bring up the terrifying possibility that someone knew what he knew, and was doing this to silence him.

            “I didn’t want this,” Skywalker hissed, gripping Rex’s uninjured shoulder suddenly. “You know that. I don’t want another captain, Rex. I want you back, the way you used to be. But now it’s too late for that… and it’s _my_ fault. I should never have let you go on that mission!”

            He didn’t want to go through a conversation like this again. “When do I leave, sir?” he asked quietly.

            Skywalker slowly let go of him, his hand dropping to his side in defeat. “Two days.”

            “Understood.” His own voice was monotonous to his ears. “It’s been an honor serving with you, General. I’m sorry I let you down.”

            Skywalker’s face pinched, conflicted, unable to deny Rex’s admission. “I… I’m sure you’ll serve the Republic well in whatever assignment they give you once you've returned to service.”

            “Thank you, sir.”

            Skywalker stared at him a moment, then nodded once, as if there was nothing left to say. Rex stood still and watched the door close behind Skywalker, heart beating hard. He sat down heavily on the bed and felt a defeated exhaustion sweep over him, pinning him down inside his restless body.  Echo’s worries sank into his blood like ice—the fear of losing his ability to care. Rex realized he now faced a similar fate in being reconditioned. And if both of them no longer had any sense of who they were, then there really was no hope to stop the conspiracy.

…

            An hour or so later, Rex walked slowly down the hall on zero deck, trying to take stock of what options he had left. The droid nurse had seemed to notice his sudden increase in distress, and encouraged him to go socialize with other clones, but Rex couldn’t see any point in talking to anyone other than Echo and his commandos. He saw now what a miracle it was that Fives had even managed to tell them his story. If he hadn’t been killed by Fox, would anything have changed? Rex didn’t know what to do next. Being reconditioned meant he wouldn’t have the memory or will to investigate any further. He still felt blown away—Admiral Bet had been understanding! High command insisting on this meant that they knew everything, and if they knew, it was all over.  

            Rex took a deep breath and reminded himself what was at stake, but doubt rose around him like floodwaters no matter how impossible it was to change course. He or Echo needed to tell someone else, but who would believe them? _I’m not crazy!_ Fives’ words echoed in his mind again.

            He opened the door to Echo’s room and saw that Diode Squad was there, all of them out of armor and two of them sleeping. The others seemed to have been talking with Echo.

            “Rex.” Echo stood, and the two commandos faced him as well. “What did General Skywalker want?”

            “Well,” he said heavily, “turns out, we might be taking the same transport to Kamino.”

            “You’re going to Kamino….” Echo didn’t sound surprised. “Why?”

            “I’m being reconditioned.”

            Echo slumped a little where he stood and sighed. “I knew this was going to happen….”

            “They know I know too much,” Rex muttered. “And there’s a chance they might suspect you too, so you’re going to have to keep a low profile. You can’t give them any sign that I told you anything. You shouldn't even try to contact me again afterward since... I won't remember.”

            “I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” Echo said. “You'll be dead.”

            “Dead?” Rex stared back at Echo incredulously, the sick heat creeping into his gut despite his conscious disbelief. “What are you talking about? If they were going to execute me, they would have said so.”

            Echo shook his head. “No, Rex.... There's no such thing as reconditioning.”

            “How do you know?” Rex said.

            “I had access to the Tipoca City cloning facility’s computer network,” Echo said, his voice heavy with weariness. “All that data on every single clone in the city. I noticed that when a group of them were marked as reconditioned, there was no record afterward of an increase in clones being trained, or even in the number of beds being occupied. Instead, the incinerators ran that day for much longer than routine. They killed them.” Echo sighed, then looked at Rex, resignation lining his face. “It was the same pattern every time another batch was brought in for reconditioning. I watched for it to make sure it was consistent. They see any clone sent back as too inherently defective to be retrained.”

            Rex stood there rigidly, fingers icy. He pulled his eyes away from Echo’s tired face, across the ambiguous expressions of the commandos, crushed by the realization of his own worthlessness in the eyes of those who would throw him and his brothers away like so much organic trash.

            “I don't think General Skywalker would purposefully deceive you about this,” Echo said. “He probably doesn’t know. I don't think anyone is meant to know.”

            “Even if he doesn’t,” Rex said numbly to the wall, “he’s not going to fight against direct orders from high command, knowing what I think about the Chancellor. And the Chancellor would find another way to get rid of me anyway.” He gave Echo a grim look, without much hope, knowing his duty. “Echo… once I’m gone, you’ll be the only one who can do something about this. You and your squad.”

            “Yes, but….” Echo shook his head. “Even if I find the evidence and information we need, who can I go to with it? I can’t leave Kamino without orders.”

            Rex hesitated, trying to think around the sensation of his own heart beating hard but steadily in his chest. He rubbed his thumbs over his clammy fingers. He’d been in a lot of battles that seemed hopeless, but never with odds quite like this. Even their allies couldn’t be trusted with the truth, and the structure of the galaxy itself seemed designed to ensure their failure.

            “I don’t know,” he finally murmured. “You’ll have to be absolutely certain it’s someone you can trust. You’re the Republic’s last hope. You can’t get caught, or the Republic is finished… and if they do catch you and the squad, you have to find someone else you trust, to pass on what you know.”

            “I don’t know anyone else that I trust,” Echo said hopelessly.

            “What about you?” Rex turned to the commandos, knowing it was futile. “Who would you trust with this?”

            “We were ordered to tell no one,” said one, glancing at Echo.

            “Well if Echo forgets this, and I’m dead, you’re going to _have_ to find a scientist who’s interested in doing what the Mrlssi scientists suggested. Maybe you’ll find someone on another mission… it will have to be a calculated risk.”

            “I don’t think they can do that,” Echo sat down on his bed heavily. “This is… I can’t believe they’re putting the blame on you. You’re not the one who compromised the mission! I was!”

            “That's not what this is about....” Rex grimaced. “But this does give me some hope that they don’t suspect you.”

             Echo was silent and seemed to be thinking.

            “You will keep this secret, then,” Rex said to the commandos.

            “Yes, sir,” they both replied.

            “Both you and Echo have impressed on us the importance and sensitivity of this information, Captain,” said one Rex suspected might be Twenty-Two. “We will do what we can to safeguard it, sir.”

            “Good,” Rex said, though the word felt completely meaningless. He turned back to Echo, mind anxiously casting about for an opening. “Maybe there’s someone else in the Five-Oh-First I can give this comm to....” He looked down at his cuff. “I’ll have to think about it. I’ll let you know what I decide.”

            “Keep it for now,” Echo said, eyes narrowed at the floor. “There’s still at least one day left.”

            “I don’t think that’s going to make much of a difference, Echo,” Rex sighed. “But maybe you’re right… it’s an important decision. I’ll take some time to really think it over.”

            Echo just sighed. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess….”

            “Things happened the way they happened,” Rex protested, but his tone sounded hollow in his own ears. “Being killed in the line of duty has always been a possibility. It’s just that this time the enemy is someone we all trusted.”

            Echo stared at him, face set in cold anger. “They’re trying to do to you what they did to Fives,” he whispered. “Have you die in disgrace.”

            “It doesn’t matter to me what everyone thinks I was,” Rex said, although it wasn’t exactly true. Skywalker’s angry disappointment still rang in his head. But it was his own inability to accept Fives’ insanity that had led him to the truth, he reminded himself. “ _I_ know what I’m dying for. I just hope it makes a difference.”

            “I’ll find a way,” said Echo, and the determination in his quiet, hoarse voice filled Rex with gratitude and painful resignation.

            “I know.”

…

            Rex leaned over and checked the chrono on his comm. It was almost oh-four-hundred. He lay back down on the lower bunk in the quarters he’d been moved to, staring around the darkened squad room, cycling through the same questions over and over that wore him down like sandpaper. How could he stop this madness with only one day left to live?

            He hadn’t told any of his men about the decision to recondition him. What was there to say? His mind threatened to spiral down into regrets; he should have seen further ahead, he should have believed Fives sooner, should have been more careful on the Anaxes mission and not drawn attention to himself. Should have kept the General’s confidence and built on it. And then the memory, the sight and sound of Skywalker’s cold dissatisfaction was enough to make him feel sick with failure. As much as he’d tried to reassure Echo that neither of them were to blame, the truth was that he could have handled the situation better. Looking back, the effects of his own near-panic were disgustingly obvious to him.

            Rex couldn’t stand this any longer. Staying awake agonizing over this was not helping him formulate a plan—he needed to wake up fresh and start over. He left his room and headed down the quiet empty halls of the Destroyer until he reached the quarters he knew the few members of the 501st on board were staying. The door opened quietly and he knelt next to Kix.

            “Kix.”

            Kix jumped and his eyes flew open, even though Rex had only whispered his name.

            “Captain?” he gasped, blinking as he sat up. “Is there an emergency?”

            Rex motioned for him to lower his voice. “No. I was wondering if you could give me something. I can’t get to sleep.”

            “Oh.” Kix ran a hand over his own face. “Right… let’s go to the supply room.”

            Rex followed him back down the hall and into a lift. Rex glanced at Kix and Kix looked back at him, smiling slightly, but with nothing but concern in his eyes. It didn't take them long to reach the field medical supply room. Kix input the security code and led him inside.

            “Is it… the dreams again, sir?” Kix asked once the door closed, not making any move to open the cabinets.

            Rex shook his head. “My mind just won’t turn off.”

            “Well… what are you thinking about?”

            “Nothing I couldn’t think about more clearly after a good night’s rest,” Rex replied.

            Kix frowned and glanced away to the cabinets, but didn't seem to really be looking at them. Rex wondered what he was thinking, but decided not to ask.

            “Well,” Rex said after another moment, “are you going to give me something or not?”

            “Yes, sir,” Kix said hesitantly. “I haven’t decided yet what would be most effective.”

            “I just need something to knock me out. Are there really that many options?”

            Kix sighed, drumming his fingers lightly on his arm. “Well, it depends on why you can’t sleep, sir. It’s my responsibility to determine if there is a larger, underlying health concern. Look… Captain, don’t take this the wrong way, but… I’ve noticed you’re not feeling your best lately.”

            “I had a hole blown through my chest and shoulder,” Rex said wryly. “Of course I’m not feeling my best.”

            “But before that,” Kix said with a nervous laugh that faded instantly. “You know, when we were talking with Jesse in Seventy-Nines… you admitted we’re susceptible to stress in combat. It’s not as uncommon as you might think. I’ve seen the signs before.”

            Rex’s heart sank. How could his inadequacy have been so apparent to everyone else, but invisible to him? Well, he’d known he was distracted, but he had never thought it was something that could diminish his decision-making abilities so disastrously, until the evidence was staring him in the face.

            “I don’t mean to assume anything,” Kix said after a minute of silence. “But… obviously, things were rough on your last mission.”

            “Sorry, Kix,” Rex sighed. “You’re right. Some things went wrong… and I keep thinking about how I could have prevented it. That’s all. I just need to get some sleep.”

            “Understood.” Kix looked slightly relieved. He opened one of the drawers filled with carefully separated vials, and selected one to load into a hypo. “This should help.”

            Rex let him discharge the hypo before he stepped back toward the door. “Thanks.” They headed out together in silence, Rex's mind suddenly racing. He realized this could be the last time they would see each other. “Keep up the good work, Kix…. It’s good to know you’re watching out for the rest of us.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Kix was waiting for Rex to take leave before re-entering his quarters, but Rex merely stood there, fingering his modified comm. His life would now be composed of a series of lasts, and this was one he couldn't waste. Kix would be a good choice as a contact for Echo. The medic was good at keeping things confidential, keeping a cool headed exterior… most of the time. If anyone would give Echo a chance to explain what was happening before condemning him, it would be Kix.

            “Listen, Kix....”

            Kix merely stared at him, waiting patiently for whatever it was Rex was going to say.

            Rex detached his comm and put it in Kix's hand. “I need you to keep this.”

            “Captain...?” Kix looked down at it, then looked back up to him. “What...?”

            “I just need you to keep it on you. It's important. You'll know what it's for when the time comes.”

            “What—Captain, what's going on?” Kix looked sincerely worried now.

            “Sorry, I can't explain anything more right now. You have to trust me.”

            Kix's fingers closed around it. “Yes, sir. You can count on me.”

            Rex felt a rush of gratitude for the 501st. They really were the best men he could have ever hoped for. He wished he could express just what it meant to him to have served with them these past years, but there was no time. What could he possibly say? He probably wouldn't even see the rest of Torrent Company before he left for Kamino.

            He sighed slowly and turned away from the door to his men's quarters. “Goodnight,” he said.

            “Sleep well, Captain,” Kix replied.

           Rex left him and after a short walk, settled back into bed, feeling a suffocating loneliness. He closed his eyes, and he was on Umbara.

            The red glow of the trees washed the haze in front of him and made it hard to distinguish the colors of those he was marching with, all of them hunting the corrupt Jedi General. But he knew them even so: Cody, Bly, Wolffe, Havoc, Doom, Blitz, Colt. His own men: Kix, Jesse, Singer, Appo, and all the others…even Fives and Echo.

            As one they moved over the dark terrain, like Diode squad. They were one mind, unthinking; Rex felt his body moving as one piece of the group. It was a feeling he’d rejoiced in before, during battles where everything seemed to fall perfectly into place. They were going to get this General. Nothing could stop them.

            Up ahead, figures materialized in the mist, marching ahead of them. They rushed forward and saw them change from the towering image of Krell to other forms. The familiar silhouette of General Skywalker loomed directly in front of Rex and, as if running down a cliff side, unable to change momentum, his arms moved of their own will, his finger pulled the trigger.

            All around him, the same thing happened. A blinding flash of blaster fire hit the line of Generals like a wave of light, and they all fell, smoking, with their faces somehow turned to show the pain and betrayal that twisted them. Skywalker gave a strangled yell, and although it was barely a word, Rex understood that the General was choking out his name.

            “Finish him,” said a voice that could have been his own. It didn’t matter. They swarmed around their General and lit up the Umbaran night with their blasters, until Skywalker wasn’t moving anymore.

            The brightness and smoke cleared, and Skywalker was nearly unrecognizable. His head had been cradled between his arms, but one of the other men shoved it away with his boot and beneath the seared and scoured flesh of his face Rex saw one of his eyes, lidless and raw, staring lifelessly up at him, blood trickling down across the bridge of his nose.

            Rex pulled his gaze away; death was everywhere he looked. General Mundi’s corpse stared up at the sky, frozen in a look of utter shock. General Kenobi was lying on his stomach, and as Rex watched, the General’s hand twitched, fingers scrabbling forward in the dirt and he lifted his head, gasping, trying to speak.

            He saw his own arm rise in tandem with Cody’s. One-two-three, the shots pierced Kenobi’s head; one from him, two from Cody. Kenobi’s face dropped back onto the ground.

            “ _No!_ ” a shrill, familiar voice. “ _Master!_ ”

            He recognized the rhythm of her footsteps before he even saw her. Commander Tano skidded down the dusty hill and fell to her knees, half crawling in her scramble to reach Skywalker.

            “Master? Anakin?” She reached for her master’s face, stopped short and bristled as she finally saw it clearly. “No….” She recoiled, rising onto her feet and taking one shaky step backward. Suddenly, as Rex aimed his pistol, she whirled, the horror and fear on her face more extreme than he had ever seen it. There were tears in her eyes.

            “Rex!” she gasped, as if he’d punched her, and the pain turned to rage. “What did you _do?_ ” she snarled, and the tears rolled down her cheeks as she reached for her lightsabers.

            Rex ran backward, inwardly frantic, a panicking animal struggling to burst from inside him. His fingers contracted. _No! Stop!_ Two bursts of light, and Ahsoka staggered, a gulping noise escaping her throat as drops fell from her chin. Her face quivered, flickering between anger and blankness. One of her lightsabers switched off, fell from her hand and raised a cloud of dust to join the fog.

            As if independently horror-struck by the sight of her suffering, his fingers convulsed on the triggers; they blinded him with the light of blaster fire. But not for long enough. Soon he could see her again, on the ground, face still wet and frozen in despair.

            The building pain in Rex’s chest exploded and he opened his eyes, clutched wildly at the edge of his bunk, lungs heaving as he twisted and barely kept himself from rolling off the edge. His whole body was prickling with a chill, a feverish sweat building as his head spun and each exhale was a gasp. He took a deep breath and tried to hold it for three seconds. It took several attempts before he managed it. His head swam and he put his hands over his eyes. When he breathed out and in again, chest feeling as if it were collapsing each time, he tried to think about something, anything other than the image of his General being shot in the back, riddled steadily with smoking holes as Rex and his brothers surrounded him like a mindless swarm of insects. Commander Tano’s voice echoed in his head.

            He would never live to see this dream come true. He tried to latch on to that thought, but that was no comfort. He thought of Kix and the others, sleeping soundly but unsuspectingly carrying these same nightmares with them, waiting to act them out. No one would be immune from the order once it came down.

            There was no solution. Echo would fail. It was too much for any one man to fight.

            Slowly, his breathing steadied a little, but his heart kept beating, blood pulsing audibly in his ears. He ran a hand over his skull repeatedly, wishing he could dig his fingers in and pull out that tiny bit of technology, and the nightmares along with it. The grogginess in his head made him feel irrationally disoriented. The drug was working to try and counteract the adrenaline in his system, but he couldn’t possibly sleep now. Shaking, he got up and left the quarters, feeling desperately alone in the silence.

            It was still silent out in the hall. He wasn't even sure how long he had been asleep. Rex lingered by the doors, not sure where he wanted to go, unable to stop quivering. There must be something he could do. The thought pounded in his head, but no matter how he tried to focus, there was nothing that would work. Even the most drastic ideas—even assassinating the Chancellor—were hopeless. It was too late.


	12. Chapter 12

            “Meet me in briefing room A-thirteen, eleven hundred hours. I have a mission for you.”

            The call from General Skywalker had come while Rex was listlessly trying to finish his breakfast. There was no other explanation before the link on his new comm went dead. Now, back in his battered armor, Rex found General Skywalker waiting for him out in the hallway.

            “Right on time.” The General met him halfway, looking tired, but grimly pleased.

            “Sir,” Rex said, coming to attention once the distance was closed between them.

            “I’m sure you have some questions, Rex,” Skywalker said, and dropped his voice to an urgent whisper, “but the most important thing is to act like you’re completely ready for this mission. Your arm is fine, got it? It’s fine. Now, let’s get inside and we can start this briefing.”

            “Understood, sir,” Rex said, feeling disoriented. He did not understand at all.

            Inside the briefing room, an indigo Chagrian stood waiting, dressed in earthy red-brown robes. The Chagrian had no horns, only the two lethorns draped over the chest: female then. Rex wondered if she was a Jedi or not. Otherwise, the chamber was empty. Skywalker locked the door.

            “Rex, this is Agent Soltam, from Republic Intelligence. Agent Soltam, this is Captain Rex.”

            Rex’s mouth opened and closed as he wondered whether mentioning his demotion would be wise.

            “Former Captain,” Skywalker corrected himself in a more subdued tone. “Slated for reconditioning.”

            “Ah… yes, sir, that’s right,” Rex said quietly. It made him nervous, not knowing how much he could say, or even why silence was required.

            “A clone who will no longer exist,” said Agent Soltam. Her voice was much more pleasant than her fierce-looking appearance had led Rex to expect, and her accent was surprisingly smooth. “Yes, I know what the word means. Be thankful, clone; this is why you are perfect for this mission. Let me explain.”

            She turned to the hologram console and called up an image of a ship Rex had never seen before. It resembled a _Praetor_ -class battlecruiser, doubled up and welded together, with a huge array on the back end.

            “This is yet another Separatist super-weapon.” Soltam almost looked amused. “They have constructed something known as a superlaser array. They have attempted to dramatically boost the destructive power of the more commonly known technology which has been used in ore mining and demolition for quite some time. Lucky for us, the construction of the weapon has encountered one problem after another. Even now, our inside intelligence assures us that its fearsome appearance disguises the instability of its construction. They are pushing it before its completion. Nevertheless, it does work, and when it does, it has enough firepower to obliterate a small moon in a single shot. It can never be allowed to engage in battle with our ships or enter Republic space. And we cannot risk approaching it in detectable vessels, as the Separatists are unaware we know of its existence, and that can't be compromised without a guarantee of the weapon's destruction.”

            Agent Soltam was still wearing a grim smile at the Separatists' increasing audaciousness, but Rex didn’t see what was so amusing about any of it. All he could think about was how much the war effort was still limping along because he hadn’t completed his mission fast enough.

            “We must destroy it now before it enters their active navy. Our best option for flying deep into Separatist space and taking it down is via a one-man vessel. The vessel will emit a Vulptereen trace and be unnotable as it passes through the region. Once in the vicinity of the super-weapon, the pilot—that's you, trooper—will eject in a small iridium-lined pod capable of remaining undetectable to the ship's systems. This pod will be set on a precise trajectory to pass close by their ship, and from then on, all live pod systems will be irreversibly terminated as you approach; you will appear as nothing more than random debris. You will abandon the pod once nearest to the ship and transfer to its hull. From there, you will access an external maintenance hatch on the side of the array and plant a modified form of their own virus. They've taught us a great deal about such technology in their efforts to destroy our fleet, and this will take full advantage of their array's flaws. In fact, you can thank ARC-Zero-Four-Zero-Eight for this little piece of software. Before him and his squad joined you, they were working for us.”

            Rex stared at Soltam, then at Skywalker. Both wore carefully neutral expressions.

            “You seem to have a question, trooper,” said Soltam.

            “Yes, sir,” Rex said. “I don’t understand why this mission is being given to me specifically. You seem to be saying I’m particularly suited to it, but it seems too important for Intelligence to trust to just anyone, let alone a… clone… who has been deemed unfit for duty.”

            “This is a one-way mission,” said Soltam simply. “When conceiving of a plan to destroy this ship, the only problem we could _not_ solve was the extraction. If we eliminate the need to extract our man, the mission is simple. A stealthy approach becomes relatively easy. In all aspects, the mission is more likely to succeed if there is no expectation of survival. This also eliminates the possibility of capture, as the result will be quite... explosive. We need someone with the experience of a veteran officer for this to succeed, but we can't afford to send anyone whose advanced skills are still required elsewhere.”

            “I see.” Rex put his hand on the console of the holoprojector. 

            “It’s an option, Rex,” Skywalker said quietly, his forehead creased. “It’s a chance to be remembered as a hero.”

            “If you do not accept,” Soltam said, “we will have no choice but to take another experienced officer away from the front lines.”

            “Understood,” Rex said. He turned to face Soltam more squarely, guilt and gratitude clashing inside him. “Given the choice between being reconditioned and dying in service to the Republic… there is no choice, sir. I accept the mission.”

            Soltam grinned. “Very good, Rex. You will have to be very precise in plotting the trajectory of the vessel we will provide you and in timing when to shut it down so that you are not detectable once in range of their sensors. The necessary calculations will be included in your mission file. The most dangerous part will be the transfer onto the ship’s hull, but you will be equipped with a jet pack, so you will be able to compensate if you overshoot your target. After that, it is a simple matter of placing the virus in the terminal we have specified in the file. You will not be in communication with anyone once you enter Separatist space. We will only know if you have succeeded when our informant reports Separatist awareness of the explosion.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “General Skywalker assures me that you _are_ able to focus on this mission, as there will not be any distractions.” Soltam held out a datapad for Rex to review. “True?”

            Rex nodded sharply. “I will follow your instructions to the letter, Agent Soltam.”

            “That is always so good to hear.” Again that amused look. “We have a rendezvous with the rest of the navy in sixteen hours, which is when we will pick up the vessel you will be piloting. Please bring up any questions you may have before then.”

            “I will, sir.”

            Agent Soltam left the room, and Rex looked down at the datapad, then back up at General Skywalker, who had made no move to leave the room yet.

            “General,” Rex began, unsure of what to say. “I… appreciate this.”

            “Well, it was the least I could do.” Skywalker folded his arms. “You can do this, right? Your shoulder’s healing?”

           “It won’t get in the way, sir.” Rex rolled his injured shoulder a little to disperse the perpetual aching stiffness.

            “Good. I’ll let you review that.” Skywalker indicated the datapad and turned to go.

            “Thank you, sir,” Rex said, and Skywalker paused, a cautious grimace on his face.

            “Don’t thank me yet.”

…

            From the observation deck, Rex had seen them arrive: the many smaller battle ships carrying the 212th Battalion. He had new armor—standard rookie, blank and white, but not exactly shiny; its previous owner must not have needed it anymore. Echo and Diode Squad had left sometime while he’d been asleep. Physically, Rex was ready to leave, and he would be leaving, soon. The one-man vessel was there in the hangar, tucked inside a slightly larger lightspeed-capable vessel he would take to the edge of Separatist space.

            Dwelling on these details was all his mind could do to make it seem real. Or perhaps that was what made it seem unreal. To a part of him, this was just like any other mission: if he was prepared, he had a better chance of success. But the rest of him, the slowly suffocating majority which felt the passing of each second as being one second less for him to live, understood that it was not. And down there, in the hangar, was the last thing that would give way to make it final, and real, and different from all the other missions he’d faced so far.

            Cody stood next to Obi-Wan, a tiny white and goldenrod figure, talking and gesturing easily as the rest of his men disembarked with their wounded. Rex pulled his eyes away and turned to make the walk down, each step taking him forward faster than he expected down a hallway which seemed endless… into the lift that pulled his heart into his throat in a way it never had before, and didn’t let it back down even after he stepped out.

            His body moved on its own, and he was a passenger, letting it carry him forward before this small window of time, this one crucial moment, was wasted.

            “—managed to patch up a good number of them on the way. Tucker does good work, General, but it’s a good thing we—” Cody cut off and turned his head, and Rex stopped, wondering distantly what sort of expression he had on his face right now. He tried to keep it neutral, but he couldn’t know for sure.

            “Captain Rex,” Kenobi said. “Something to report?”

            “No, sir. I was interested in how the assaults are going.”

            “As well as can be expected,” said the General.

            Rex nodded and walked away just enough to indicate that there was no urgency to his presence, pretending that he was just watching the 212th disembarking as something to fill the time. He couldn’t shake the feeling that everything he was seeing was a carefully scripted act. His part of it certainly was.

            Cody glanced at him between the lines of his conversation with General Kenobi, and Rex made sure his face was neutral since he couldn’t manage a smile.

            At last, General Kenobi went off to find Skywalker, and Cody walked up to join him, the default formality of his expression opening into amazement and concern.

            “Rex! I heard you were out of commission for a while.” Cody’s voice had a nervous edge. “I didn’t expect you to be back on the front lines so soon. Did they destroy your armor? Where’s your pauldron?”

            “Oh… yeah. Yeah, I got shot in the chest… and the shoulder.”

            As he turned, and Cody followed him out of the hangar, Rex felt as if he were trespassing in someone else’s dream. Like a ghost, he was invisible and unfitting, just inhabiting the body that was speaking to Cody now.

            “Everything alright?” Cody asked.

            _I’m still alive, right?_ Rex almost said. “Yeah.”

            “It’s a good thing you’re so hard to kill,” Cody laughed, and Rex’s skin prickled coldly. “Same shoulder as on Saleucami?”

            “Yeah,” Rex said, laying a hand over his mostly-healed wound. “I guess it is.” He wondered how many of his injuries Cody remembered so specifically, and was struck by how the Commander was always watching out for him, even when they weren’t serving together.

            “I got a few scrapes on New Bornalex,” Cody said, “but it really wasn’t so bad fighting down there… once I showered all the mud off from when we re-took Ord Radama.”

            “You had to take Ord Radama all over again?” Rex followed Cody out of the hangar and then took the lead down the corridor toward his quarters. A spear of guilt wedged itself in his ribs.

            “Ahh, it was easy.” Cody made a gesture like brushing away a fly. “They didn’t have enough time to really build up the same numbers and infrastructure as before, so we wiped them out in a few hours. Where you headed?”

            “Quarters.” Rex glanced at Cody, hoping he wouldn’t question it. He decided not to give him the chance. “Get bitten by any Devlikks?”

            “Uh. No.” Cody raised an eyebrow at Rex. “Why would a Devlikk attack me? They don’t want the seppies on Ord Radama any more than we do.” 

            “Well, anything that lives on a swamp planet is just waiting for the right moment to eat you.” It was a relief to Rex when his voice sounded appropriately light, despite the way his throat felt taut. “At least, that’s what you assumed when we were cadets.”

            “What?” Cody laughed sheepishly. “Come on, Rex, you can’t bring that up _now._ That was years ago! Besides, even if that snake was harmless, I did get caught in quick sand, remember? And my suit was leaking so my boots were full of sludge and I couldn’t pull them out… was it really that far off to say that the swamp was trying to eat me?”

            “It was the _way_ you said it.” Rex wished this were a normal day, a normal conversation. If he could just know this wasn’t their last day together, the pure relief might be enough to make him attempt a ridiculous, exaggerated impression of how Cody panicked back then. If nothing else, it would make Cody laugh, and he wanted to hear that.

            For a moment Rex was tempted to count out how many years, how many weeks and days they’d known each other. But he didn’t remember the exact date of their first meeting.

            “You remember when we first started training together?” he asked, buying time.

            “Course I remember.” Cody smirked. “But what part? The part where you accused me of being the Master Chief’s favorite?”

            “I never actually said that.”

            “Right.” Cody put on an overly thoughtful look. “What was it you said? Oh yeah. You just said—” his voice became stilted and overly formal, his arms stiff as planks at his sides. “‘ _I_ was told that you were one of the best. I guess that’s why you’re allowed to take so many risks.’”

          The impression of his former self was so accurate that Rex laughed weakly. “What you were doing _was_ risky.”

            “You mean when I gave my suggestions on how to improve our training exercises?”

            “I’d never even considered giving suggestions to a commanding officer before,” Rex admitted. “But… it was also the fact that you came up with a plan to jump onto the back of a destroyer droid and ride it _through_ an explosion so its ray shield would protect you—”

            “Hey,” Cody said with a crooked grin. “I was preparing you for General Skywalker. I just didn’t know it yet.”

            “Yeah.” Rex shook his head, brought back to the present with a sick jolt at the thought of his General. “Guess you were.”

            “I never put you into any unusual hardship with my _independent thinking_ , did I?” Cody nudged him gently with his elbow. “Even back in the day when I was more of a hotshot.”

            “You act like we weren’t the same rank during training.” Rex was amazed at how easily he could teasingly scoff at Cody’s attitude while feeling so unreal.

            “Well, I watched out for you, right? You were just so quiet and formal all the time. But then… you watched out for me, too.” Cody’s smile softened. “Got me out of trouble when I got ahead of myself. Like that time I fell into that hole in the canyon. I still can’t believe you wouldn’t listen to me.”

            “You weren’t in any position to order _me_ around. It was your idea to take a shortcut. I said I thought it was a bad idea.”

            “Right, so why risk failing the assignment? We were under a time limit, remember? And I ordered you to take the rest of the men straight on through and leave me behind. And I was pretty well hidden, so the enemy wouldn’t find me.”

            “We were a team,” Rex said stubbornly, struck by a vague, uneasy connection. “We were supposed to complete the mission together. As I remember, I got extra points for my idea to commandeer the speeders we used to get you out of there. Didn’t we finish even faster than we would have before?”

            “Well, yes, but… you didn’t _know_ that would work. It was a much bigger risk than taking the base before sending someone back for me.”

            “It had to work, so I made it work,” Rex said, realizing all too well that such a motto couldn’t always be followed.

            Cody laughed under his breath and put a hand lightly on Rex’s uninjured shoulder, just for a moment. “That’s the first thing I really noticed about you, you know. Even back then, you were so…indomitable. Once you’ve made up your mind about what to do, you charge right in and nothing can stop you.” Cody made a sharp forward gesture with his arm, echoing the sign to advance into battle. “At first I thought you were so over eager to follow orders to the letter that you’d get yourself killed right away. But then… you proved again and again that you’re made of tougher stuff than _I_ expected.” Cody’s smile had softened, his eyes staring up a bit as if seeing it all in his mind’s eye. “And _you_ had some good ideas too, once you loosened up and actually started talking to people.”

            “Oh yeah?” Rex asked, desperate to keep the subject off how invincible he supposedly was—at least until they were out of the hallway. “Like what?”

            “Is this a contest?” Cody laughed. “Well, let me think…. There was that time you got suspicious of me while we were doing all-terrain survival training on Kesh. I was scouting in the tundra for food sources and got distracted by the lights from the geomagnetic storm. You thought I was purposely ignoring my comm link.”

            “No I didn’t.”

            “You _said_ you did!” Cody insisted.

            “I only said that because I was angry,” Rex admitted. “ _I_ was thinking you’d gotten killed, or incapacitated just like Quickdraw, and then I see you sitting on a rock staring up at the sky like you didn’t have a care in the world. What else was I supposed to think? But then we figured out that the power cells in all our equipment had been fried by the storm.”

            “And you figured out that our communicators could still send a rudimentary code using the energy from the storm, even without their power cells. That way we could update the Master Chief about our situation, let her know that Quickdraw was in critical condition.” Cody grinned, shaking his head. “I still don’t understand how you figured that out.”

            “I was just paying attention at the right time,” Rex sighed. The door to his quarters was ahead and he wondered how he could possibly say what needed to be said, and bring this review of their lives to an end.

            “That’s half of what being a good soldier is about,” Cody shrugged. “And to think I made fun of you for trying to use a dead comm. Turns out it wasn’t so dead after all. I think about that a lot, actually, in battles, when things aren’t going so well.” Cody’s voice turned thoughtful. “Sometimes if you just hold out a little longer, instead of rushing desperately to the next opening, the solution shows up on its own. Sometimes even saves a life.”

            “Hmm.” Rex paused before opening the door. “I didn’t realize you ever thought any differently.”

            “Oh yeah,” Cody said half-jokingly. “That’s why I always had to come up with so many ideas, see—back then, I didn’t always have the stubbornness or the strength to just hold out until I could win a straightforward victory.”

            “Yeah?” Rex couldn’t quite manage a smile at Cody as he shut the door behind them. “But sometimes holding out too long gets you killed, and it’s useful to have a backup plan, even if it is a crazy one. That’s a lesson I should have learned earlier.”

            For a half second, Cody’s eyes bored into his and Rex thought Cody knew what he meant—the things he’d learned on Umbara, and which had driven him now to this end. But then Cody laughed a little.

            “Come on, Rex. You’ve loosened up a lot since the day we met.” Cody lifted a hand as if to clap him on the back, but then dropped it, remembering his wounds. “I am curious where we would be if we hadn’t gotten to know each other so well in training….”

            “Probably dead,” Rex said, without thinking.

            “What?” Cody laughed again. “What makes you say that?”

            “Oh….” Rex glanced around, considering. “Well… you know. We’ve had our share of close calls.”

            “Yeah. We watch each other’s backs. And I guess your precision and stubbornness rubbed off on me a little,” Cody admitted. “That _has_ saved my neck a few times.”

            “And if I’d stayed so rigid,” Rex said, “who knows what situations I would have just… stayed standing in, not realizing that sometimes it’s necessary to give suggestions or… strong objection to a commanding officer. Or break from the original plan.” Rex stopped himself there, cold.

            The temptation was strong to lead from this into telling Cody everything. But he knew it wasn’t safe for him to tell Cody about the conspiracy; there was no guarantee that Cody would believe any of it without seeing it for himself, and the thought of Cody looking at him with revulsion in his eyes was something he couldn't stand to imagine. He cast about desperately for something else to say.

            “ _And_ I…get along better with everyone now,” Rex added haltingly, “than I did as a cadet.”

            “That’s General Skywalker as well,” Cody acknowledged. “But… I do remember you started having a sense of humor just a little while before we graduated….”

            “What do you mean?” It wasn’t hard to put on what Cody would certainly take as an overly serious look.

            “Don’t you remember that night we were camping out, waiting to be picked up off… where was that again? Oh yeah, Rothana.”

            “Right.” Rex remembered. “We had just finished learning all the specs of the AT-TEs and other vehicles at the factory there…took a few for a test drive up the cliff, had some drills in the snow… and then we were told to take guard duty shifts outside the refinery.”

            “Telling stories to pass the time.” Cody sighed, smiling. “Mostly about narrow escapes when things went wrong during all-terrain training. Most of _our_ stories weren’t that exciting… hypothermia, or getting stung by a poisonous insect… but then it came around to you and you said—”

            “I made up some ridiculous story about getting eaten by a sando aqua monster.”

            Cody laughed. “But you told it with this face, and this voice, like—like it was completely true, and—!”

            “And you were so convinced I would never joke about something like that, you got angry with Ganch when he said I was lying.” Rex smiled. He could picture it so well, their faces all lit by the glow of the heat lamp they were huddled around inside the tent—the wind whipping snow up against the flaps. Sudden warmth spread through his chest and threatened to rise into his face.

            “Right! But then, once I got him to shut up, I asked you how you got out, and you started to explain something about how you climbed back up its throat with a grappling hook… and you started laughing.”

            “I felt kind of bad, actually,” Rex admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “You were so embarrassed.”

            “Well, you sure didn’t act like it,” Cody huffed mockingly. “You laughed even harder!”

            “I tried to stop once you ran outside,” Rex said, some part of him almost wanting to laugh again at the memory. “But then you came back in and dumped snow on my head.”

            “It worked.” Cody shrugged with a smirk.

            “Yeah, because my hair was soaked and my neck was freezing.”

            “You got me back later.” Cody waved a hand. “We’re even.”

            “You were suspicious of everything I said for a while after that,” Rex mused.

            “But you were smart enough not to try it again until I least suspected it.”

            Rex shook his head. “I was just… surprised you had so much faith in me. I didn’t want to take that too lightly.”

            “You never take anything too lightly.” Cody rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Except when we go out drinking sometimes.”

            “I think that has more to do with the company than the drinking,” Rex shrugged. He couldn’t take his eyes off Cody’s face, trying to watch for the perfect moment, the right opportunity to make his move, aware that he was stalling, desperate to stay in this moment where the simplicity of brotherhood encompassed everything. He took a deep breath to force himself to speak, stomach lurching—

            “Well, you like to have fun with the rookies, I guess,” Cody admitted. “When we were doing all those inspections, you were teasing the men at Pastil so much. And then you pulled that stunt with the droid head at the Rishi outpost—I can’t believe that worked. You must have been really bored.”

            “Ah… it was fun, actually,” Rex sighed, “doing those inspections. A nice break from the front lines, just you and me and a bunch of shinies. There was still plenty of excitement to go around.”

            “Yeah.” Cody lifted his arm, which was blinking. “Cody here.”

            Rex’s throat constricted again. He’d wasted too much time.

            “I need you up on the bridge right away.” It was General Kenobi’s voice.

            “On my way, sir,” said Cody, and switched off the channel. “Hey. We’ll catch up some more later, okay?”

            For a desperate moment Rex tried to force it out: _I’m being sent on a suicide mission._ But Cody had to go—the time had passed. He’d have to find a moment later or never at all.

            Cody paused by the door. “Okay?” he repeated.

            “Yeah,” Rex said, hoping there would be time… part of him guiltily hoping there wouldn’t be.

            Cody left the room and the door slid shut behind him. Rex closed his eyes and pictured himself back in that tent, or under the colored, waving lights of the storm on Kesh, remembered how he’d felt so startled by Cody’s defensiveness on his behalf, and all the times Cody had pulled him into conversations almost against his will. The way he had at first felt insulted at Cody’s advice or attempts to share blame for Rex’s rare mishaps on the training ground… then grateful as he recognized these as gestures of friendship.

            If he looked back on his life like one continual picture from his mind’s eye, spread out in segments, there was so little richness before his training with Cody had begun. He pictured his batchers, making jokes and rough-housing, himself sitting separate and aloof, or calling them out on their childishness. But the mutual respect he’d found with Cody was something that made room for happiness, even silliness at times. Or—something he couldn’t share fully even with General Skywalker—doubt, and grief. He remembered meeting up with Cody after his first mission, sharing numbers and guilt.

             Rex knew that once he was dead, he would have no sense of losing all of that history, that strength. He wouldn’t need it anymore. But Cody… he would have to go on living a lesser life than what had been stitched together between them. Rex sat down on the bed and exhaled harshly; he put his head in his hands. Thirteen years of life, and nearly half of those so much fuller than all the rest. Cody knew how to reach out to others, Rex told himself. He would be okay.

            For a while, he couldn’t move from that spot, immobilized by the realization of all that he was losing, overwhelmed by the knowledge that all of this would be meaningless if Echo didn’t succeed. He had failed everyone. _I did what I could. I did this to save them_ , he reminded himself firmly, and silently repeated it, again and again, to keep despair at bay.

…

            Rex opened the door. It was dark inside. Cody was asleep—the only one in the small commander’s quarters. He didn’t stir when the door shut behind Rex, probably exhausted from all the fighting.

            The sudden silence and containment of the room compared to the subdued but constant bustle out in the halls struck Rex hard. He had come down to the last second. There could be no more delaying. The distant feeling he’d lived with for the past few hours threatened to fade as he knelt in front of Cody’s bed and studied his sleeping face. He set his old helmet gently on the floor.

            The Commander’s brow was slightly furrowed as he lay on his back. Rex wondered how often he had the nightmares. Cody’s bare left hand lay loosely at his side, half curled, palm-down, and it twitched a little when Rex laid his own gloved hand on it.

            “Cody,” Rex tried to say, but his breath caught, so he had to try again. “Cody.” It came out loud, and Cody started at the sound of Rex clearing his throat.

            “What?” Cody’s eyes fixed on him in the dark. He sat up and scanned the room with a wary alertness, which turned to alarm when Rex put his hand again on Cody hand, where it rested on his knee. “What’s wrong?”

            “Sorry.” Rex withdrew his hand, eyes steady on him. “You’re probably tired, but… I’m leaving in a few minutes. I don’t have much time.”

            “Time for what?” Cody’s eyes flicked over Rex’s blank armor, as if noticing it again for the first time; his face went a little slack. “Where are you going?”

            “I’m being… well,” Rex swallowed and tried again. “My last mission… went all wrong. I wanted to tell you earlier. But….”

            Cody stared at him, eyes widening.

            “General Skywalker was ordered to send me for reconditioning.” Rex was amazed at the calm monotone of his own voice. The few moments he’d spent mentally rehearsing that line out in the hall might have helped.

            “No... Rex,” Cody breathed, turning his head slightly. “That... that can't be right...!”

            Rex exhaled slowly and shook his head a little, never taking his eyes off him.

            Anger and fear seized Cody’s face; he lunged to his feet. Rex stood up too and caught him by the wrist, irrationally afraid that Cody would leave before he could finish.

            “You? Reconditioned? Wh—but—that’s _ridiculous!_ ” Cody clenched his other fist. “You’re General Skywalker’s right hand! You’ve survived _and_ won more battles than—than some commanders I know… how can they…how can General Skywalker stand for this?!”

            “Cody,” Rex said heavily. “That’s… not everything. He gave me a choice. I’ve been given one last mission. So I can die in service to the Republic.” He swallowed, watching Cody’s face earnestly for understanding—seeing it crash through. Cody gripped Rex's wrist convulsively with his other hand, just inside where the armor met his glove.

            “ _No_ ,” Cody hissed, his face falling. “ _You?_ _You’re_ the one going on this suicide mission?”

            “Yeah,” Rex nearly whispered, feeling again the cold certainty of death. “It was my choice. Reconditioning… it’s just how the Kaminoans talk about terminating us. It’s a death sentence, and maybe even if it wasn’t, I’d rather go out this way. As… as a soldier in the line of duty.”

            “I don’t understand,” Cody whispered, his voice tightening as his face constricted in pain. “I don’t understand how this could happen to you! You’re a Captain! You—”

             “I endangered the mission,” Rex murmured, struggling to keep his eyes from slipping down in shame. “I couldn’t focus. I nearly failed the entire navy… you, everyone on the front lines. I’m not fit for duty anymore. This… this is my last chance to make up for that.”

            Cody exhaled a breath he must have been holding, and inhaled with a sharp hiss, shaking his head. His grip on Rex’s wrist was hard, his eyes glancing away fitfully.

            “I…” Cody swallowed. “I had no idea it was so bad….”

            Rex stood, helpless to defend himself, even for Cody’s sake.

            “It was all too much I guess, after a while,” Rex sighed. “I let it all get to me… I don’t know how it happened, just that… after Fives was killed….” His voice shook alarmingly and he stopped, tried again after a second in a flatter tone. “Everything reminds me of it… I wake up almost every night feeling sick from the nightmares… sometimes, I can’t even enjoy target practice because….” He trailed off, thinking of how Fives had held his pistol just before being shot by Fox—how _he_ had killed his own brothers with them, on Umbara, and how always, in his dreams, they were there in his hands, shooting down the Jedi.

            “Why didn’t you tell me?” Cody asked desperately, his voice and face straining with shock. “I could have helped… I could have done _something_ … _!_ ”

            “I’m sorry,” Rex said weakly. “I didn’t think it would go this far…I thought I could handle it… just… force myself to focus. It always worked before.”

            “I-I should have known!” Cody stammered, suddenly angry. “I should have _noticed_ something was wrong! You weren’t sleeping—you were on leave, you told me you weren’t feeling right—you _did_ tell me, and you… you went to talk to Kenobi, that was about this, wasn’t it? I can’t believe I didn’t _realize_ —”

            “Cody,” Rex broke in, more sharply than he meant to. He couldn’t stand hearing Cody blaming himself. “There’s nothing you could have done! There’s… nothing you can do now, either. I’m no good to the army anymore. I just… I just wanted to say goodbye.”

            Cody recoiled, horror crumpling his face, but he didn’t let go. Rex’s hand was tingling from the pressure of Cody’s fingers on his wrist. He looked pale, deep lines forming between his eyebrows. The scar by his eye stood out, distorted slightly by his expression.

            “I can’t.” The words squeezed out of Cody’s throat, between clenched teeth. “I can’t just….”

            “We both knew this day would come, didn’t we?” Rex managed to keep his voice steady. “Every time one of us left for a battle. We knew this would happen someday.”

            Cody shook his head as if trying to chase away a bad dream. “Not like _this_.” It was barely audible.

            “We’re lucky,” Rex insisted, trying to convince himself that it was true. “How many of us get to choose our end? Especially for me to have this option after I’ve failed the Republic? How many of us get to say goodbye to our brothers? How many others would want this chance?”

            “Not like this,” Cody just repeated stiffly, shoulders slumped, as if begging the universe for a miracle.

            Rex knew what he meant. It was harder this way, to be shunted out of existence as something shameful, a broken weapon that had no value otherwise. It was harder to accept that it was a necessary part of war, or blame it on the seppies, or the clankers, or even just bad luck. He didn’t know if it was bad luck that he was losing his mind, or if it was a personal defect of his. Maybe there were just some things that would make anyone sick like this, even clones bred to handle the usual horrors of the battlefield.

            And it was one thing to face your helplessness to prevent death after it had already happened. It was another to hold a dying brother in your arms and watch the life leave him. It seemed like there had to be something you could do… but there was nothing, in fact. The one you were holding was as firmly out of your reach before he’d breathed his last as after. The only difference was that in those few seconds, you could still say goodbye.

            “Listen to me, Cody,” Rex said, around the lump in his throat. “You can handle this. You’re going to be fine.” He tried to force an optimistic note into his constricted voice. “This is where you belong….” He took a deep breath. “It’s… like General Kenobi told me. Your duty is to the living. The ones who can still fight. I have to do this… and you… have to let me go….”

            “No.” It slipped out of Cody like a breath he was trying to hold again. He lurched forward, and for a moment Rex’s hand was free, and then Cody’s arms were around his shoulders, crushing him in a painful hug. He could feel Cody’s hair brushing against his ear, could hear the shaky breathing. “No, no….”

            Slowly, Rex leaned forward a bit and returned the embrace, feeling Cody’s lungs expanding through the fabric of his own gloves and Cody’s under suit. As he absorbed the unusual sensation of another person’s living, unarmored body moving with breath, encompassed in his arms, his own breathing threatened to match Cody’s, and his eyes grew hot. This would be the last time he ever heard Cody’s voice—the last time they were in the same ship, even the same part of the galaxy, let alone this close together.  After the years they’d spent together, in training, in battles, the brief, little moments of happiness in between… those little moments were everything. Rex wished he could describe exactly what that meant.

            “Cody,” he said shakily, not even sure what would come out of his mouth next.

            “I know...” Cody said weakly between breaths. “I know… I have to accept this… but….”

            Rex swallowed and tried to focus on the good memories, the fact that he had been lucky enough to have a brother he had shared this much with, for this long. But it hurt. He didn’t want to let go, either.

            Slowly, though, he did.

            Cody took longer. He rocked back and stood stiffly on his own two feet again. Rex saw the defeated look on his face. He wanted to promise that he’d find a way to survive—but he couldn’t.

            “I have to go,” Rex said quietly.

            Cody swallowed visibly, jaw clenched and quivering.

            Rex didn’t know what to say—how to break it off. They stood staring at each other for several seconds before he remembered one last thing he’d meant to do. He went to where his old helmet was resting on the floor and picked it up to bring to Cody.

            “If… you want,” he offered. “I can’t bring it with me.”

            Cody took it without hesitation. His jaw moved as if he were trying to find the breath to say something. He didn’t though, just stared at the helmet for a few moments, before turning a haunted look back on Rex.

            “I guess this is it,” Rex finally said, and turned away.

            “Yeah,” Cody managed to whisper to his back. Rex opened the door, and when it shut behind him, his whole body went cold at once, weak from what it took to leave a brother behind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  An [illustraton by JasJuliet](http://ltfad.tumblr.com/post/107356489801/jasminejbatista-cody-and-rex-inspired-by-the)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep in mind the content warnings for this story as they start becoming heavier from this point on

            “How does she look?” Obi-Wan asked, as Broadside emerged from the little ship.

            “Prime condition, sir.” Broadside rapped his knuckle twice on the hull. “Everything checks out with the one inside too. Should be a smooth ride.”

            “Good.” Obi-Wan glanced over to where Anakin, Agent Soltam, and Rex had just entered the hangar. “I’m sure Republic Intelligence already checked but….”

            “Right. No harm in a second opinion,” Broadside said seriously.

            Obi-Wan dismissed him with a brief nod and turned his full attention to the group approaching. Rex held a data-pad in hand but was otherwise unburdened; his equipment was already on board. He looked strange in the blank white armor—diminished.

            “Do you have concerns about this mission, General Kenobi?” Soltam asked coolly when they had all come close enough.

            “It’s always wise to double check,” Obi-Wan replied. “Is it time, then?”

            “It is time,” Agent Soltam agreed. “He is ready.”

            Rex, nothing but stoic attentiveness on his face, looked to Anakin, who had been equally silent during their approach.

            “I won’t disappoint you this time, sir,” Rex said quietly.

            The corner of Anakin’s mouth pulled back, not quite a smile, not a grimace. He looked at Rex, although Obi-Wan could tell it was difficult for him.

            “I’m counting on that.”

            For a moment neither of them moved or said anything more, until Rex drew himself up to full attention and gave a slow salute.

            “For the Five-Hundred-First… for the Jedi… and the Republic.” He looked at each of them in turn as he spoke, his voice soft and low. “I wish you good luck in future battles, General Kenobi, Agent Soltam… General Skywalker. May the war end swiftly… in victory for the Republic.” Rex’s hand curled into a loose fist at his side when he was finished.

            Anakin unclasped his hands from behind his back. His face was unnaturally empty of emotion. “I’m pretty confident it will.” Almost hesitantly, he held out a hand. “Goodbye, Rex.”

            Rex stared at it for moment. Then he clasped it firmly and looked up at Anakin, his composure wavering.

            “Goodbye, sir,” he said.

            Obi-Wan stepped forward as they let go. “Our lives are in your hands. May the Force be with you.”

            “Thank you, sir.” Rex met his eyes for only a moment before he turned away abruptly and made for the ship at a steady pace.

            As he disappeared up the ramp, Anakin’s face was… somber. Compared to the turmoil that was radiating from him, the expression was positively serene.

            The ship fired up its engines and smoothly disembarked through the ray-shielded exit. Soon it was a speck in the distance, then a streak as it jumped to lightspeed, then nothing.

            “I hope he makes the flight without incident,” said Agent Soltam. Obi-Wan glanced at her. She seemed genuinely concerned, for the mission if nothing else.

            “He _will_ ,” Anakin insisted, and heaved a tense sigh. “You heard him. He repeated the instructions and coordinates back to you exactly. He’ll get the job done.”

            “It’s nice to know you have such confidence in him,” Soltam said, smiling. “I’ll take your word for it. Excuse me, Generals.” She bowed slightly and walked away. Anakin’s arms were folded so tightly that Obi-wan felt stiff just looking at him. He laid a hand on Anakin’s shoulder.

            “Anakin,” he said.

          “Not a lecture, Master,” Anakin said dully, shrugging him off. “I know—I’ve already accepted this decision.”

            “Actually, I was going to say that you’re handling the situation quite well, all things considered.” Obi-Wan kept his tone gentle. “This is not exactly a happy occasion.”

            Anakin’s frustrated look opened into a brief glimpse of grief; he stared at the floor and said nothing.

            “He was a good Captain,” Obi-Wan murmured. “But you’ve done all you can for him. It’s out of your hands now.” He resisted the urge to remind Anakin that Rex’s sacrifice would save thousands of other lives, that returning to the Force was the fate of every creature and not to be feared—but those words would do more harm than good right now. Besides, he knew firsthand that the pain of loss was not something he was immune from. And Anakin knew all of that too.

            “I know what my duty is,” Anakin said quietly.

            The door opened behind them and Tarkin’s voice rang sharp across the floor.

            “Ah… General Kenobi. I’m pleased to find you in health.”

            “Admiral Tarkin.” Obi-Wan turned around, but the Admiral’s eyes were on Anakin as he approached, hands behind his back. Anakin didn’t seem surprised to see him.

            “Admiral,” Anakin said, a dull edge still weighing on his voice. “I suppose you’re here to assist me in reorganizing the Five-Oh-First.”

            “Precisely.” Tarkin gave a thin almost-smile. “Considering that the war effort is still in some _desperation_ , it is imperative that we bring your men to order immediately. Their new roles and command structure must be clear and effective. You and your troops are needed on the front lines. So… if you’ll gather them, I will speak to them straight away.”

            Obi-Wan expected Anakin to protest, to insist on speaking to them himself, to at least make some comment designed to remind Tarkin that his men were _his_ men, and he would decide what to do with them.

            “Right,” Anakin said, and turned rigidly to go. “Follow me. I’ll call them together.”

            This was not good, Obi-Wan thought, before he caught himself, puzzled. Why not? Anakin was following orders without protest, and doing a good job at restraining himself in this stressful situation. But something felt different—had felt different since about the time Anakin had told Rex they were ready to send him off.

            It was probably just his own worries talking. It wouldn’t do to hover over Anakin and wait for him to make a mistake. Obi-Wan sighed deeply and brought his mind back to his own duties. It was time to take stock so he could prepare the 212th for the next assault.

            “Cody?” he called through the comm. link. It was silent. “Cody, are you there?” he tried again.

            “Yes, General.”

            “Meet me in the command center on B deck. I’ll need an updated report on the casualties from our last engagement.”

            “Yes, sir.” The Commander sounded tired, but that was no surprise. Obi-Wan was tired, too—he’d have to take some time out before the siege on Clak’dor VII, make sure they were all as near peak efficiency as possible.

            The moment he walked in to the command center, he knew they certainly weren’t at peak efficiency now. Cody stood waiting for him, staring through maps of Clak’dor VII with half-lidded eyes. But crossing the threshold into his presence was like stepping through an electrified doorway—the burning pain and sensation of weakness swept through Obi-Wan and prickled its way down his arms.

            It was enough to root him to the spot, and make him forget for a few seconds why he had come in the first place. Cody raised his head, blinked hard and came to attention, his eyes narrowed as if he had a headache.  “Sir. I have the casualty report you requested.”

            “Right. Good,” Obi-Wan said, a little faintly. He reached out and took it when Cody offered, peering worriedly at the Commander’s impassive face. “Have we lost anyone since our arrival?” he guessed.

            Cody’s eyes slipped down for just a moment. “It’s all there in the report, sir,” he said quietly.

            Obi-Wan started scanning the list of personnel, trying to puzzle out what could have happened to put Cody in such agony. He was no stranger to the Commander’s emotions. Cody was usually fairly honest about his thoughts and feelings on whatever situation they found themselves in, although orders always came first, of course. It was that combination of openness and commitment that made him so easy to work with. But even battles with high casualties had never produced this particular level and tone of pain before—the sort that could make soldiers double over.

            “Something has happened.” Obi-Wan pressed in a hushed tone, lowering the pad. “Something _I_ should know about. What is it?”

            “It’s a personal concern, sir. It won’t affect our upcoming battles.” Cody winced. “Maybe for the Five-Oh-First, but… not our men.”

            It hit him, then. “It’s Captain Rex. I didn’t realize….” He stopped himself; there was nothing he could possibly say that would comfort Cody at all.

            He couldn’t offer understanding, or any apology for how he hadn’t thrown his influence toward saving Rex’s life. There was no third option for a clone whose judgment was degrading to this extent. Cody knew that the system would never allow for such exceptions, that it wouldn’t make sense to keep Rex in the army as he was. Saying so would only add insult to injury.

            _I didn’t realize you loved him so much_ , Obi-Wan thought, but didn’t say. Of _course_ Cody had never made a show of having a deep friendship with Rex, beyond the same sort of general camaraderie most clone brothers had for each other. Attachment of this depth was as unacceptable for a clone as for a Jedi. Yes, he had sometimes sensed happiness in Cody when the 501 st and 212th were assigned to work together, when they rendezvoused with them or returned to Coruscant after a time away… but he had never put two and two together.

            For a moment, Obi-Wan wanted to offer his own fears as consolation. He knew something of what it was to watch a dear friend waver, to worry deeply over his state of mind. But the moment passed as he acknowledged how inappropriate—and unhelpful—that would be.

            “Don’t worry, General,” Cody half-whispered. “I won’t… let it get in the way…. He wouldn’t want that.”

            “Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed sadly, impressed at Cody’s composure. “But… I _would_ like you to get some more rest. It should help. Please, be sure to take care of yourself, so we’ll both be at our best when we reach Clak’dor Seven.”

            Cody breathed out, the first audible sign of how he was feeling, and his face relaxed enough to give a dim reflection as well. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

            “I need time to file our report on New Bornalex, anyway,” Obi-Wan added. “And review our reconnaissance.” He pushed on Cody’s shoulder gently. “Go.”

            Cody nodded and walked off, and Obi-Wan watched him go. He looked again at the casualty report; there were deaths, yes. Names and numbers he knew. Many deaths, nearly every battle. He often told himself that war merely accelerated the pace of what would always occur in the long run—that to try to circumvent an inevitability was to fight against existence itself—but he couldn’t shake the feeling that lately there was something darker than the natural cycles of the Force at work. His training told him not to struggle… to just let things unfold until they became clear. He took a deep breath and headed for his quarters.

…

            The 501st Battalion, newly arrived onto the Destroyer from Xagobah, stood in quiet ranks on the wide floor of the mostly-empty hangar, by all appearances a perfectly ordered entity. General Skywalker stood on a small temporary platform with Admiral Tarkin, facing the men, and Kix stared back up at them, surrounded on all sides.

            “I know you’re all probably expecting a further briefing on our next mission,” Skywalker called out.  “But that will have to wait. There are going to be some major changes to the Five-Oh-First. Admiral Tarkin has come to assist me with the reorganization.”

            Kix took a long, hard look at the both of them as the General stepped tensely aside to let the Admiral speak. Reorganization that required assistance from Admiral Tarkin didn’t seem like any of the usual shuffling of their forces.

            Tarkin stepped forward with a nod to Skywalker and turned his sharp look on the men. “Up unto this moment, the Five-Hundred-First Battalion has been under the command of General Skywalker and your fellow clone Captain, CT-Seventy-Five-Sixty-Seven. You know him as Captain Rex.” Tarkin paused for just a moment, long enough for Kix to feel unsettled. “You are probably all aware of the recent catastrophic defeats our navy has suffered, as a result of a computer virus which can disable both shields and weapon systems without warning. Your _former_ Captain was deployed on a special mission to deal with this problem. However… due to negligence and an _unsound_ mind, he nearly brought further destruction on us all.”

            Kix silenced the shocked huff of air that burst against his teeth, as if he’d run into a wall, and he fought the urge to turn his head to look at Jesse, one row back.  Some of the others, even in front of him, broke focus to exchange startled glances. They should have more sense than that, Kix thought. Instinctively, he knew that drawing attention wasn’t a good idea right now.

            “We have seen fit to grant him one last chance to serve the Republic honorably,” Tarkin said severely, “But the mission is not one which he will survive.”

            Hands aching faintly from being clenched too tight, Kix worked hard to keep his face and mind blank. _Rex is dead_. An unsound mind; defective.

            “As a result, this Battalion is in need of a new command structure. General Skywalker will remain assigned to you. CT-Eleven-Nineteen will be promoted to Commander of the Five-Hundred-First, effective immediately.”

            Tarkin lifted his chin toward Appo, signaling him to step up onto the platform. The Sergeant—now Commander—took his place between Skywalker and the Admiral. He, at least, gave no indication of any feeling other than alert receptivity, but Kix scrutinized him anyway, wondering how in the Republic any of this made sense.

            As the razor-cheekboned Admiral finished laying out a succession of other small promotions—Bow raised to Captain, Index and Brick to Sergeants—Kix watched his General too. Skywalker didn’t look pleased. Well, at least _there_ was a part of this situation that felt reasonable.

           “From what I hear, the reputation of this Battalion has always been one of absolute competence,” Tarkin said, carrying on in that excessively crisp inflection of his, each syllable precise despite a drawling undertone. “It may not be entirely shocking for a group of soldiers to become slipshod at the most crucial point in war, but that does not make such weakness tolerable. It certainly will not go unnoticed. Your General is not the only one counting on you to fulfill your purpose with skill and unwavering discipline. The Republic will suffer for any defect in the performance of this army. Is that clear?”

            “Yes, sir!” the ranks around Kix thundered, and he joined in, despite how the Admiral’s tone produced an all-too-familiar twist of anger.

            “Dismissed,” said Tarkin. But the men stayed more or less in ranks until the Admiral had gotten off the platform and was on his way out of the hangar, Skywalker striding close behind him. As soon as they were at a reasonable distance, Kix slipped through the crowd, looking for Singer.

            “The Captain’s _gone?_ ” Someone caught Kix by the shoulder. It was Jesse, eyes wide with shock. “He hadn’t even fully recovered yet! Did _you_ know anything about this?”

            “No!” Kix huffed. “Don’t you think I would have told you if I did?”

            “Not if Rex or the General told you not to,” Jesse argued. “But—” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re talking about him like he’s some kind of failure! He was nearly killed for that mission!”

            “Keep it down,” Kix urged, although everyone was murmuring to their neighbors now as they dispersed. He grabbed Jesse by the arm and hauled him through the crowd. “Ugh,” he sighed hard. “I should have seen this coming….”

            Jesse’s voice instantly hushed. “What do you mean?”

            “I’ll tell you later.”

            Kix thought of the last time he’d seen Rex: the cryptic message about the comm. he’d passed to him, the inability to sleep. Rex had known the end was coming. But even before that, there was the unusually strong lethargy that had fallen on him while recovering from surgery, the increasing signs of fatigue Kix had noticed in the Captain ever since Ringo Vinda, the fact that he’d barely been involved in any of their missions lately….

            “I don’t like this,” Jesse muttered, and Kix shared a glance with him, agreeing.

            Singer was surrounded by a small knot of troopers near the platform.

            “Hey. Lieutenant,” Kix called. Singer turned toward them with a deliberately composed look on his face.

            “Oh. Hello, Kix. Jesse.” His composure faltered slightly. “Sad news about the Captain....”

            “Sad?” Jesse scoffed. “Confusing, is what I’d call it! Or did you forget he just got out of surgery a few _days_ ago!”

            Singer looked startled at Jesse’s tone. “Well, yes, but… he was obviously at least fit for the assignment, whatever it was….”

            Jesse scowled. “Since when does the Republic knowingly send officers on suicide missions, anyway?”

            “Singer, weren’t _you_ next in line to command?” Kix stepped out in front of Jesse, nudging him backward a bit with his elbow. “Appo was just a sergeant. I don’t understand how they’re passing over you like this. It doesn’t make any sense.”

            “Ah… well…” Singer lifted one shoulder with a sad smile. “I’m sure the General has his reasons. More than rank goes into choosing a leader.”

            “ _If_ this was even the General’s choice,” Kix sighed. “He didn’t look too happy about it.”

            “Well, think about it.” Singer raised both hands slightly, one holding his helmet. “He’s worked with Rex since the beginning of the war, right? Of course he’s not happy about this. None of us are. But I’m certain Appo will make a fine commander.”      

            “I wonder what went wrong,” one of Singer’s platoon said softly. “Must have been pretty bad.”

            “General Skywalker didn’t say too much to us,” Kix said hurriedly, uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading. “Just that Rex’s squad wasn’t supposed to be detected by the enemy, but they were, and that’s why he was injured.”

            “Yeah, we had to extract them from Anaxes,” Jesse put in. “It was pretty bad….”

            “But the mission was ultimately a success,” Kix added, shifting so he could watch Jesse’s face. “Our ships are working again!”

            “Eh… there’s probably something else they’re not saying,” suggested another clone—Rabbit.

            “Maybe. But it’s better not to think on it too much,” said Singer, crestfallen. “There’s nothing we can do now but focus on our next mission. Although… I would like to honor him somehow.” He looked down at his helmet, the face bisected unequally by a thick, curving river of blue.

            It was silent for a long moment. Silence was often the only response that made any sense with a loss like this… but then, they had never had a loss exactly like this. What could they say that would do any good? Kix thought bitterly. Even if they all felt something wasn’t right here.

            “I’ll ask Ice if he has any ideas,” Jesse finally sighed. “Something simple we can add to our armor.”

            “Yeah….” Singer nodded. “Something subtle, perhaps.” His eyes flicked toward the door Tarkin had used to exit the hangar, then swept the last few knots of troops nearby. Kix was sure he was looking for Appo, and wondered how many of the others caught Singer’s meaning.

            “Yeah. Like what? How subtle?” Jesse asked in a harsh whisper. “ _I_ wouldn’t mind even putting his name on my helmet.” He slapped the side of it. “He deserves to have his memory taken with us into every battle! I mean, after everything he led us through, there’s no way any of us can forget him. I’m sure the General _and_ our new Commander will understand that.”

            “Right,” Singer said, a little too quickly. “Of course. I only meant in the interests of… well….”

            “We’ll come up with something,” Kix said, putting a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “I just wish we knew more about what inspired this decision.” _So I can prevent it from happening to anyone else._

            “I don’t.” Singer sighed deeply. “I’m certain he would rather we remember him as the great leader he was. Not… whatever happened to him out there.”

            Kix gripped Jesse’s shoulder a little, holding himself back as well from a bone-deep objection to the idea that Rex could have done anything so bad as to warrant this. It was just as unthinkable that Rex had been sent to his death for no good reason. As much as Kix hated to admit it, their former Captain had most likely fallen prey to exactly what he’d believed impossible.

            Still, he felt sick with anger. But he knew from experience, from countless battles where each death he theoretically could have prevented piled up on him like grains of sand on a scale… he’d just have to wait for that feeling to pass. It was part of being a soldier.

            “Everything alright, men?”

            They all turned to see Appo approaching. 

            “Yes, sir,” said Singer. “Congratulations on your promotion.”

            “Thank you, Lieutenant. I only wish it came under different circumstances. Rex was a fine Captain.” Appo frowned at the floor for a moment. “I’ll do my best to lead as well as he did. Let me know if there’s anything in your platoon that needs my attention.”

            “I will, Commander,” Singer promised with a brief salute.

            “And you too, Kix,” Appo said. “I’m counting on you to make sure our men stay in top condition during the last legs of the war.”

            “I intend to, sir,” Kix said slowly. “Wherever possible, I will be making more frequent health checks among the men.”

            “That’s not a bad idea.” Appo nodded. “Alright then. I’d better get up to the command center. Get some rest.”

            “Yes sir,” echoed around the little group as Appo left.

            “I think we’re in good hands,” Singer murmured when he was out of earshot. He motioned with his hand, taking in Kix, Jesse, and Rabbit. “We all worked under him on that mission to Skako Minor.”

            “Yeah,” Jesse said with only a trace of reluctance. “It was a small team.”

            “If he knows how to make use of the chain of command, the number of men he’s leading won’t matter as much.” Singer’s tone was earnest. “It’s our job to make sure everyone holds together, as much as his. We _must_ give him all the support we can.”

            “Right,” Rabbit sighed. “We can’t make things any more difficult for the General, either.”

            “The Republic is counting on us,” said Singer, as if half to himself. “The best thing we can do to honor Rex is to win this war. And to accomplish that, we must be united.”

            “Yeah,” said Jesse. “You’re right. But I’m _still_ gonna talk to Ice.”

            “Let me know when you have a design,” said Singer.

            “We will,” Kix promised. “C’mon Jesse.”

            They all parted with wordless nods or gestures, and as they crossed the vastness of the now mostly-empty hangar, Kix was already making a mental list of everyone who had shown the slightest signs of being at risk for a breakdown, over the past year and more recently. There were more than he liked to admit, but he knew that many moments of rage or panic in the midst of battle were temporary. But some showed themselves more frequently. Hex and Noname had been injured together on the Ryloth mission—one head wound, two broken hands and a blaster shot through the hip—and were always off in corners together, barely speaking to anyone else even after recovery. Zip was up at odd hours—did he ever sleep? Kix decided to watch more closely—and always seemed slightly jittery. Spines and Quotes kept getting into fights with each other about “nothing”, and as for Avenger, well… in the beginning his goal of killing ten enemies for every dead brother in the battalion had seemed like harmless self-competition. But now, after nearly three years…. 

            “Hey.” Jesse’s hand on his arm made him jump.

            “What?” Kix snapped, and realized he’d been clenching his jaw—the beginnings of a headache ghosted through his skull.

            “What?” Jesse echoed. “What are you thinking?”

            Kix shook his head and took a moment to force a calmer posture. “Maybe you better keep an eye on me, Jesse,” he warned, hushed. “I’m on edge.”

            “Right,” Jesse said readily. “Sure, I got your back. It’s because of Rex, right?”

            “It’s… everything,” Kix sighed and ran a hand over his head. “I need to stop thinking about it. I’m gonna see if I can sleep.”

            “Okay.” Jesse looked at him worriedly. “Yeah. Maybe I will too, but I’m gonna take a shower first.”

            “Alright. See you later.”

            They parted by the lift, and as Kix walked the rest of the way alone, he continued the list in his head, with a note to watch for how Rex’s disgrace and death might affect the men. Rex was gone—thinking about how he might have saved him was no use. But knowing that didn’t make the gut-twisting anger go away.

            Several minutes later, armor removed and properly stowed, he lay down on a lower bunk, and closed his eyes. It was deathly quiet—only two other troopers were using the bunks, and they were far enough away that Kix couldn’t really hear them breathing. He waited for his body to relax, his mind to go blank. Usually, if he counted breaths long enough, that did the trick. At two hundred breaths, his stomach was in a worse knot than before. At five hundred and fifty, there was a slight pressure in his throat like someone was choking him very gradually. He caught himself replaying the last moments he’d seen Rex, his memory zeroed in on the exhausted resignation in his Captain’s face. He started the counting over. One… two… three…four….

            He’d reached nearly a thousand when the door opened, and Kix lifted his head to see who it was.

            “Hey. You’re still awake?” said a hushed voice in the dark. Jesse came into view and looked down at Kix, armor-free and smelling of soap.

            “ _Yes_.” Kix let his head fell back against the bed, exhaled harshly, and for a second, the knot in his stomach loosened a bit. “Maybe I need to take something.”

            Jesse shoved his armor crate into place and hauled himself up onto the upper bunk. “You think General Skywalker agrees with this decision?”

            “What?” Kix evaded.

            “You _know_ what,” Jesse hissed a strained sigh. “Kix, come on. That’s what you’re angry about, right? Well, so am I! Rex has never once in his life been _negligent_. And like I said…they’re sending him on an actual suicide mission! Why didn’t he tell us? I understand if the mission was confidential but… we’re his team.”

            Kix swallowed against the fire in his throat, the urge to do something and let all of this come out.

            “Something’s just not right about this. Honestly,” Jesse continued, “I’m worried about General Skywalker. What if there’s someone just like….” Kix heard Jesse roll over and his face appeared over the edge—it was too dark to make out his expression well, though. “Someone just like Krell, but higher up… using the General like Krell used Rex? Forcing him to throw away his men?”

            “You’re being paranoid,” Kix said with a humorless, quiet laugh.

            “You think so?” Jesse paused a minute. “Maybe. It’s just the way Admiral Tarkin was talking… guess it reminded me of how Krell talked to us. Like we aren’t already out there every day following every order they give us. Like we can’t even look at a Jedi sideways if we don’t want to be called a traitor!”

            “Jesse,” Kix sighed. Jesse wasn’t drunk this time, which made his doubts all the more questionable. “The fact is,” he whispered, “the Captain _was_ slipping. I saw the signs… but I didn’t do anything. Not enough, anyway.” The knot in his stomach drifted painfully up toward his chest.

            “ _What_ signs?” Jesse breathed. “Did he say something to you?”

            “Yeah.  The other night… he came to me asking for a sleep aid. I could tell something was bothering him but he wouldn’t talk about it. I’d been noticing things before that, though, and I don’t just mean since he’s been injured. It’s only been getting worse with time, ever since Ringo Vinda. He was tired… and I heard from some of the wounded after the Ryloth mission that something went wrong with Rex’s group in the canyon. He wasn’t in the right place at the right time… he attacked too soon. And then he was on leave, remember? He was in his service uniform when he met us at Seventy-Nines… and then he was talking about having nightmares.”

            “I don’t… really remember that night very well,” Jesse said sheepishly.

            “Right… guess you wouldn’t. Well, Rex got us to talking about what happened the night Fives was killed.” Kix fought to keep his voice from rising above a stage whisper. “And then somehow… we ended up talking about Umbara, and Rex said he’d been having nightmares about a mission where we have to kill the Jedi.”

            There was silence but for Jesse’s breathing. Then, Jesse shifted a bit. “Maybe I do remember that part….” He sounded troubled. “A little bit.”

            “I asked him what he thought it meant that we all have these dreams. He said maybe it was stress related after all, because of how often we lose our friends because of the orders we’re given.” Kix laid a hand on his stomach, trying to deepen his breaths. “Rex wouldn’t say something like that lightly. I think he was telling me something… I think… maybe watching Fives die was just too much. I mean, that’s why _we_ couldn’t join the manhunt. It was just too much.”

            “Yeah,” Jesse breathed in a low growl. “I’d rather die than have to fight against my own brothers again….”

            “Rex really respected Fives,” Kix sighed. “After Umbara.”

            “Who _didn’t_ respect Fives?”

            “I think something happened when Rex and the General found him. Maybe just seeing Fives going crazy like that, getting shot down… it was too much even for the Captain. He hasn’t been alright since then. And this mission was just the last straw….”

            “What are you saying? You think he got injured because he was….” Jesse trailed off again uncomfortably.

            “Yeah. I think… he’s been losing his focus, his will to fight.” It felt wrong to say it out loud. “Because of what happened to Fives. Last time I saw Rex he said he couldn’t stop thinking about what he could have done differently on this mission.”

            “Well, it was an accident,” Jesse muttered. “That means it wasn’t his fault.”

            “I should have made him talk before I gave him anything.” Kix stared into a dark corner of the room, feeling so sick with frustration that he had to sit up. “I should have trusted my instincts.”

            “What are you doing?”

            Kix was on his feet and halfway to the door before Jesse had vaulted off the bunk and caught up with him.

            “Kix, where are you going?” Jesse stepped in front of him and grabbed his shoulder.

            “To get an antiemetic.” Kix swallowed, breathing through his mouth. “So I don’t throw up on you.”

            Jesse let go and took a step back, hands raised. “Okay. Okay, fine. But… it’s not your fault.”

            Jesse followed him out into the hall, both of them squinting against the brightness at first. Kix could see Jesse’s troubled look all too clearly as they took the trip to the medical supply room.

            “Look, the way I see it,” Jesse went on bitterly, raising his voice the moment the door closed, “If what you’re saying is true… either Rex could have gotten better but someone decided he wasn’t worth it… or he couldn’t, and he probably would have gotten killed in battle one of these days. Either way, there’s nothing _you_ could have done!”

            Kix kicked one of the packs against the wall, hard. He gave a muffled cry at the pain in his foot, wanting to tear something apart with his bare hands but knowing that wouldn’t help anything.

            “No matter how many droids we kill, it doesn’t _mean anything!_ ” he snarled. “No matter how many battles one of us fights, no matter how many times we bleed out on the battlefield and risk everything, and lose someone, it all means _nothing_ the moment we—!” He stopped himself, chest heaving, when he saw Jesse’s frightened eyes staring at him.

            “Kix….”

            “I’m cracking too.” Kix sat down heavily on the floor and fumbled with the straps of the med pack. He stopped and held himself still for a moment, disturbed by how such a simple movement was made difficult by the roiling revulsion that had taken hold of his body. “Ah…this isn’t good, Jesse,” he said faintly, putting a hand to his clammy forehead. “I can’t let this happen to me….”

            Jesse knelt in front of him and took the med pack, opened it, and set it on the floor facing Kix.

            “Which one do you need? This one?” Jesse pointed at the antiemetic, but Kix shook his head.

            “I think I’m… I just need some kind of sedative, maybe.” Kix tried to focus around the sickening rage. His hand hovered indecisively over the vials, and he noticed it trembling slightly just before Jesse covered it with both of his hands. For some reason, that made Kix’s throat hurt even worse. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this, huh?” he managed after a couple of slow breaths.

            “What? You mean lost your temper?” Jesse looked at him with dismay. “I think that’s a little different….”

            “It kind of feels the same,” Kix said shakily, trying and failing to laugh normally. He put his other hand over Jesse’s. “Just this time…there’s no one around for me to hit.”

            Jesse didn’t say anything to that, just kept Kix’s hand pressed between both of his, and after a moment Kix realized which vial he wanted and pulled gently away. He reached for the hypo and jammed a medium-strength sedative into it. “You think General Skywalker will be calling any other meetings within the next five hours?”

            “How am I supposed to know?”

            “This is going to knock me out pretty hard. Maybe I should pick something else….” Kix closed his eyes, frustrated and a little terrified at how hard it was to think clearly.

            “Kix, hey… it’s gonna be alright,” Jesse said firmly. “Look, just take something light and if it doesn’t work, you can up the dosage, right?”

            “Right,” Kix breathed. “Right, that makes sense. Thanks, Jesse….”

            He reloaded the hypospray and gave himself the shot while Jesse looked on in concern.

            “Better?”

            “It’ll take a minute.” Kix focused on putting everything away neatly into the pack. “I need to get an idea of how many others in the Five-Oh-First are at risk for this. But I don’t even know why this is happening to me….”

            “You don’t think… it’s that parasite again, do you?” Jesse whispered.

            “No… we were immunized. It’s psychological, I’m sure of it. Once I get some sleep, I’ll try to figure out what induced it in myself… maybe then I’ll know how to pinpoint it in the other men, keep it from happening….”

            “Well…” Jesse stood and offered a hand to help Kix up. “Rex was just literally ordered to his death. The last time you were feeling anything like this was on Umbara. And what happened _there?_ ”

            “We were being ordered to march into death trap after death trap,” Kix hissed, the surge of rage confirming Jesse’s words. He took Jesse’s hand and got to his feet. “But… it’s also when I was ordered not to go back for the wounded.”

            Jesse just looked at him sadly.

            Kix shook his head, feeling cornered. “Losing good men because of our orders… having to leave them behind. That’s not going to stop happening any time soon. Not until we win the war. But we might not win the war if _this_ starts happening to all of us.” He took a step toward the door and stopped. “I hope it’s just me. Maybe it’s just me… we’ve had men in the Five-Oh-First before who were just… a little different. Tup was like that….”

            “Kix, _don’t_ talk like that,” Jesse said uncomfortably.

            “But I have to work on the assumption that it can happen to anyone,” Kix went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. He headed out into the hall.

            “Kix,” Jesse said again. “Maybe you should talk to….”

            “To who?” Kix turned toward him, finger hovering over the door switch. “This is what got Rex killed. It’s called being defective. You think I’m going to tell them I have it too? General Skywalker might not like what’s going on, but he wasn’t able to stop it, either. I’m not saying anything to anyone. This is something we have to handle ourselves.”

            “Right….” Jesse’s face fell. “Of course… I won’t say a word. I’ll just… keep an eye on you.”

            “Yeah. Maybe if I can identify who else is at risk, I can assign some of the men to watch _them_ too.” Kix could feel the anger uncoiling, the fuzzy calm coming over his mind. “That should at least keep them alive a little longer….”

            He opened the door and went inside, back into the darkness, and for a moment the awful feeling spiked again, then settled. He rolled into bed with a huge sigh and watched as Jesse climbed into the bunk above him again. Something swelled in his throat, a heat blooming in his eyes that made him feel like he was about to choke. But then it passed, and he could feel sleep coming for him.

            “You’re gonna be fine, Kix,” Jesse whispered in the darkness.

…

           

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A beautiful illustration of the last scene with Jesse and Kix, done by JasJuliet](http://jasjuliet.tumblr.com/post/117580696527/a-very-late-christmas-gift-for-raemanzu-that-at)   
> 


	14. Chapter 14

            Obi-Wan sliced cleanly through the last few commando droids guarding the city hall’s inner office. With his free hand he paused a moment to wipe his forehead on his sleeve, glancing back down the stone-mosaic stairs to where blaster fire was lighting up the enormous obsidian eyes and intricately carved cheek-flaps of the statues that stood guard in the entrance hall. His hair was dripping with sweat and he was drenched under his clothes, which felt much too thick and heavy on him in the jungle heat. He’d hoped that the sealed cities of Clak’dor VII would mean a more pleasant temperature than the outdoor climate would provide, but then the city’s environmental systems had been compromised when his forces breached the outer defenses rather…forcefully.

            After a few seconds of rest, he shifted stance back to readiness and forced open the old-fashioned door, lightsaber raised above his head.

            “Senator F’ass?” Obi-Wan called in surprise, locking his eyes on the Bith who was standing behind the ornate desk. The whole room—the whole building, and the whole city, really—was beautiful, a fitting testament to the ancient and highly developed culture of the species who had created it. The arc of the walls into the ceiling, all powder blue melting into an emerald green toward the floor, sunlight from the ceiling gleaming on the clean lines and surfaces of the ivory-like furniture, plants climbing pillars and hanging in strategic spots to cast pleasing shadows from the artificial lights—it was all very peaceful. Woodwind music was playing gently somewhere. It sounded far away.

            “Obi-Wan Kenobi?” The Bith could not blink or widen his eyes, lidless as they were, but his mild voice gave the impression that he was pleased. “I wish we didn’t have to meet like this… but I am glad _you_ are the Jedi I offer our surrender to.”

           “I take it you weren’t in favor of joining the Separatists, then.” Obi-Wan glanced around the room cautiously, but he didn’t sense a trap. He shut the door, turned off his lightsaber, and came forward to greet the former Senator. “What exactly is your sphere of influence among your people?”

            “Anyone who might oppose me has gone into hiding by now. Once you remove the droid armies and establish a presence here, those who would stand with the Confederacy will be delegitimized. If there is another of our kind that the Republic would prefer to appoint as leader of this planet, I would rather step down, but… I will take up the burden of leadership if necessary.”

          “Then it is a total surrender,” Obi-Wan sighed with relief. “You support the Republic? You and your people?”

            “We would rather remain neutral, of course,” F’ass said. “But as we have seen, that does not appear to be an option at this point. We welcome Republic protection, but we have little to offer in the way of military help.”

            “I’ll let my men know. Is there anything you can do to stop the droid armies? We would like to minimize any further damage to your cities.”

            “I’m afraid not,” said F’ass sadly. “Our cities weren’t built with military strategy in mind. We were guarding against the environmental effects of our own civil war, not expecting war to come to us from outside. The armies are being led by tactical droids and a few alien generals.”

            “Alright. I’ll dispatch some men to guard these offices, and update you on our progress. Sorry about the environmental controls.” Obi-Wan grimaced.

            “I trust you will try your hardest to make the best of this terrible situation, Master Kenobi,” said F’ass. “Whatever you can do, you will do.”

            “Yes, I will,” Obi-Wan promised. “Stay here until my men have secured the building.”

            He ran back the way he had come, and shut the door behind him.

            “Cody,” he said into his comm., pausing at the top of the stairs. “Come in, Cody.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “The Separatist leaders are in hiding, but we have the support of the only leader still left in the capitol. He can’t do anything to stop the droids, but once we’ve destroyed them, the people should follow his lead.”

            “Copy that.”

            “I’ll meet you where we split off, by the university. We’ll plan our strategy from there.”

            “I’ll be there, sir.”

             Obi-Wan switched channels to inform Anakin of his progress, repeating what he’d just told Cody as he rejoined the fray to cover a cornered squad.

            “So now all we have to do is find these generals,” Anakin replied when he’d finished yelling over the blaster fire. “Alright, I’ll meet you there as soon as I can break away. The droids are pretty thick over here!”

            “See you then.” Obi-Wan grunted as he lopped off the head of another droid. The squad behind him was able to wipe out the rest in the hall with a smattering of blaster fire. He shut off the comm. and turned back toward his men. “Lieutenant, secure the building. We have an ally in the central office; make sure to position your men so that no one can harm Senator F’ass!”

            “You can count on us, sir!” said Lieutenant Meer.

             When Obi-Wan emerged into the street, things had quieted down considerably. He kept alert, but there was only a distant sound of battle drifting to him on the pungent air, and the main thoroughfare seemed to be empty. Despite the heat, he jogged in long strides toward the fountain where he and Cody had parted ways. He caught sight of the Commander slipping carefully around a corner, hugging the walls, his men following one by one. His posture said he was still on high alert, and as Obi-Wan watched, Cody’s whole body jerked to a halt and he shot three times through the windows of a building across the street; shattered glass almost masked the sound of a Bith voice screaming.

            “Wait!” Obi-Wan cried as Cody rushed forward. “Don’t shoot!” With a little help from the Force, he leapt forward and landed right in Cody’s path, lightsaber held in a defensive stance. Cody stopped dead. “The Bith are our allies now, we have their leader’s official surrender!”

            “Yes sir,” Cody panted. “S...sorry, General. I don’t know if it was droids or Bith, but _someone_ was shooting at us out of the windows back there. Six of us went down before we could blink.”

            “I see.” Obi-Wan focused on the Force to try and sense if they were in any further danger. “Did any of them survive?”

            “Push made it, but he’s in bad shape.” Cody still sounded breathless.

            “Do you still have your medic?”

            “Tucker went with Shiver’s squad,” Cody said. “But Early’s still here.”

           “I want him to see if that Bith is still alive, and help him if he can.”

           “Yes sir.” Cody motioned the younger medic forward. “Wooley, Viper, cover him.”

            “Yes, sir!”

            “How are your men dealing with the heat?” Obi-Wan asked.

            “Just fine, sir,” Cody said, with unconvincing enthusiasm.

            “Once Skywalker arrives, our primary objective will be to capture or kill the enemy generals who are in hiding. There’s likely to be an even greater concentration of droids where they are.”

            “Yes, General,” Cody’s head jerked compulsively toward some thumps and rustles coming from the building his three men had just gone into, but he snapped attention back to Obi-Wan right away.

            Obi-Wan frowned, beginning to feel a bit worried. Cody was not in ideal condition for what lay ahead. Perhaps he would have to rely on one of the lower officers to help with this operation.

            “Anakin, where are you?” he sighed loudly over the comm. link.

            “Sorry, Master. I was busy following my instincts. They led me right into the Separatists’ hideaway. Three killed, one captured.” Anakin’s voice was smug. “Still want me to rendezvous in the town square or should I send you my coordinates?”

            Obi-Wan’s heart sank. Yet again, Anakin went for the easier, more violent solution.

            “Your timing is perfect, as always,” he said wearily. “I’ll come to you. Just try not to kill anyone else if you don’t have to.”

            “Actually, there’s another small hideout closer to where you are, according to this helpful Seperatist we just captured. I’ll send you the coordinates. I think me and my men are done here.”

            Obi-Wan sighed heavily and confirmed receipt of the coordinates before turning to Cody. “Change of plans. I want you to help the wounded get back to the ship. Stay there and wait for further orders.”

            “Sir?” Cody gripped his rifle close to his chest. “What about capturing the generals?”

            “We don’t know what they may try to do when they realize we have them cornered.” Obi-Wan paused and realized guiltily that he didn’t need to make up a good reason for what he wanted Cody to do. “I’ve given you your orders, now I want you out of here as soon as Early is finished with that Bith.”

            “Yes, sir!”

            Cody hurried to check on Early’s progress, and Obi-Wan ran off to find one of his captains.

…

            Hours later, Obi-Wan strode through the corridors of the ship, cleaned up, blessedly cooled down, but still troubled. Seeing the iconic capitol of Clak’dor VII broken and ghost-town-like was part of it, as was his continual worry over Anakin. But what he saw in Cody was what bothered him the most.

           Some of the men were sleeping now, but luckily, some were also eating. He stood by the exit of the mess hall, watching the troops come and go in groups of two or three, sometimes whole squads of five sticking close together. Some of them stopped and gave him surprised looks before he waved them along with a smile. Silently, he tried to observe and gauge their connection to one another. The variation startled him. 

             Finally, a group walked out that was perfect for his purposes. All four of them had been part of Cody’s company on Clak’Dor VII.

            “Excuse me,” Obi-Wan said, clearing his throat loudly as he approached.

            The curly-haired clone in front stopped first and came to attention.

            “General Kenobi!”

            “At ease, Wooley,” Obi-Wan said. “I’d like to have a little chat with the four of you.” He glanced over the other three, naming them in his head: Boil, with his dramatic frowning mustache; Star, with the subtle constellation tattoo across his head (some of the tiny stars even showing up across his nose like freckles); and Ghost, who was only identifiable from any other generic clone by four successively smaller dots descending his jawline from each ear.

            “Right now, sir?” Wooley glanced at the others. Star’s brow furrowed.

            “Yes. Unless you have pressing duties to attend to.”

            “No sir.”

            “Good. Follow me.”

            Obi-Wan led them to the nearest briefing room, one deck up. He could tell they were all a bit nervous as he turned to face them.

            “It’s come to my attention that the war may be taking a toll on some of the men.” He paused, trying to sense their reactions. Ghost’s discomfort came through most clearly, so Obi-Wan turned his eyes on him. “That this might affect key members of the battalion is particularly troubling. I need to know if any of you have observed unusual behavior in the men recently… especially your Commander.”

            Ghost’s gaze lifted back up to him “What do you mean by unusual behavior, sir?” he asked quietly.

            “Anything. Distraction, disturbed sleep patterns… perhaps being quieter or more talkative than before. Any evidence of unusual stress during the most recent battle or at any other time.”

            Everyone was silent, not looking at each other.

            “I sense that you all have something to say,” Obi-Wan said gently. “You may as well share it. It could save someone’s life.”

            “Sorry, sir,” Wooley said uncomfortably. “We all have the utmost respect for Commander Cody… it’s difficult.”

            “Difficult to do what, exactly?”

            “To admit that he’s human,” Boil muttered, barely audible from behind Wooley and Star.

            “Well,” Star interrupted a bit too loudly, “I think we’re all just caught off guard, sir. _You_ must have concerns about the Commander if you’re questioning us about him.”

            “I do have concerns,” Obi-Wan agreed. “I’m concerned for his well-being. Now, tell me what you know.”

            Ghost sighed. “Truth is, General, lots of us have been wondering what happened. Tucker even called him in for a health check because he noticed something wasn’t right. But all he said is the Commander’s tired.”

            “Then I realized,” Star joined in, “that he started acting funny right after we rendezvoused with the Five-Oh-First.”

            “Acting funny how?” Obi-Wan pressed.

            Here they all stalled again, the three in front exchanging nervous glances. Boil was quiet and still, meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes as if trying to stare him down.

            “Nothing serious, sir,” Wooley finally said. “It’s like you said. Just seems like there’s something on his mind, and he doesn’t feel like talking to anyone.”

            “Well,” Ghost grimaced. “Usually he’s pretty sharp when he’s on point. But today, his reactions were slower. Sometimes, anyway. Other times, seems like he had an itchy trigger finger.”

            “ _All_ of us were having a hard time focusing in the heat,” Wooley said defensively. “Commander Cody led us well. He always does, sir. There’s nothing to worry about on that front.”

            “Wooley.” Obi-Wan smiled sadly. “You seem to be under the impression that I’m trying to find fault with Cody.”

            “Oh… no, General,” Wooley said haltingly. “I’m just....”

            “With all due respect, Commander, I think I know why,” Star interrupted. “Like I said, after what happened with the Five-Oh-First recently… none of us want to think that the same thing could happen to our Commander. He might not have been in top form today, but that doesn’t mean anything. He’ll be back to normal soon, I’m sure.”

            “What exactly have you heard about the Five-Oh-First?” Obi-Wan looked at Star curiously.

            “I know some of the men from that Battalion pretty well, sir,” said Star in a rush. “A couple guys told me their Captain got sent away on an important mission, but he came close to ruining something important, so they replaced him. Sent him off with a one-way ticket somewhere so he could die with honor. Seems like they’re all pretty shocked about it.”

            Obi-Wan sighed, stifled with guilt he didn’t want to examine. “I see now why you’re reluctant to talk. But understand… I don’t want that to happen to our Commander any more than you do. I’d rather prevent it if I can. In order to do that, I’m afraid I need to understand just how unusual Cody’s behavior is.”

            “I’m not sure what you mean, General,” said Star. “I thought we already established that it’s pretty unusual for him to be acting this way. He’s usually more focused. And more friendly with the rest of us. I agree with Tucker—he’s probably just worn out. It’s been a long haul.”

            Obi-Wan wondered how much he could say without feeling like he was violating some private part of Cody’s life. He realized how little he knew about what went on in the ranks… just as he’d been clued in while watching those groups of troopers leave the mess hall. What if Cody’s attachment wasn’t unusual? How many men had been this devastated by the loss of a friend on the battlefield, and he simply hadn’t thought to notice, because clones weren’t _supposed_ to be hit hard by the death all around them?

            “What I need to know,” Obi-Wan said at last, “is whether it’s unusual for the circumstances as well. Have you ever seen any of your other comrades have a behavior shift like this? What caused it, and how long did it last?”

            Again: silence. Obi-Wan had the distinct feeling he was treading new ground here, asking questions about things which simply weren’t talked about. Or at least, not talked about with Jedi.

            “Perhaps after the death of a friend?” he prompted.

            “Yes, sir,” said Wooley reluctantly. “Lots of us, after every battle. But it passes.”

            “For most of us,” Star said. Boil and Ghost shifted their weight away from the other two with an affected casualness.

            “And for the rest?”

            “It depends, sir,” said Wooley.

            “On what?” Obi-Wan said patiently. This was like pulling teeth, but he was beginning to understand why.

            “Well, if they survive much longer. If they do….”

            “They’re usually not the same as before,” Star finished for him.

            Obi-Wan frowned into his hand. “The altered behavior becomes permanent?”

            “I guess you could say that, sir,” Star shrugged. “If they make it that long, that means their focus during battle is still good. But they don’t act the same around the rest of us.”

            “I see.” Obi-Wan considered for a moment. “Wooley, Star… thank you. That will be all. You two are dismissed. If you notice any new developments among the men, please let me know.”

            “Yes, sir,” they both said, outwardly willing, inwardly reluctant as they left.

            The door shut behind them and Obi-Wan turned toward the other two.

            “It seems to me,” he began, “that the two of you have thoughts which might contradict what Wooley and Star were saying.”

            “No, sir,” said Ghost in a grim undertone. “They just about summed it up. Some missions just stick with you, but it’s still do or die out there on the front lines. As for me… I don’t plan on dying without a good reason. A meaningless death is the worst fate for any soldier.”

             “Was it a meaningless death that made you familiar with these… symptoms?” Obi-Wan folded his arms.

            “Not for me, sir,” Ghost said with hollow conviction. “I saw it in one of my squad mates. We both had friends in the Five-Oh-First too, before Umbara. A lot of them died under his command, but when Krell sent us kill each other… he never could get past that. Got shot down right in front of me on the next mission before he fired on a single clanker. He just didn’t have any fight left.”

            Obi-Wan noticed how Ghost avoided even naming this squad mate.

            “I just hope the Commander doesn’t end up that way,” Ghost grumbled. “Because if he does, General… I don’t know that even a Jedi like you can fix him.”

            “Hmm.” Obi-Wan turned toward Boil. “You’ve been awfully quiet, Boil. I know you have something important to add to this.”

            “Oh, nothing you would find useful, sir,” Boil muttered.

            “I beg to differ,” Obi-Wan said sternly.

            “Sir, permission to leave the room?” Ghost said suddenly.

            “Yes, go on. Thank you for your help.”

            “Thank you, sir.” Ghost opened the door and left in a hurried march. Perhaps he could feel some of Boil’s resentment as well.

            “Sorry, General,” Boil said darkly, when Ghost was gone. “I know you can probably tell exactly what I’m thinking right now.”

            “Not really,” Obi-Wan said, relieved that they were finally getting somewhere. “I can only guess at why you’re feeling this way. It seems that the more I try to understand this, the angrier you become. That’s a bit of a paradox.”

            Boil said nothing, eyes half-shut, and Obi-Wan wondered what would provoke a more informative response.

            “I want you to speak freely,” Obi-Wan said. “I’m not interested in condemning my men for speaking the truth. I only want to understand how serious Cody’s condition is.”

            “Of course, sir. We wouldn’t want to lose efficiency in the Battalion right now. These battles are too important, right?”

            “Right….” Obi-Wan frowned. He had a feeling he’d just walked into a trap.

            “You’re a Jedi, sir. You can sense our emotions. You should already know what’s normal for your Commander.”

            “I know this is the first time he’s been this distressed. And I know _you_ are angry with me, although I don’t know exactly why. Perhaps you’d care to explain.”

            “I don’t think that’s a good idea, General.”

            “I _do_ ,” Obi-Wan said. “I’d rather not make this into an interrogation. I’m trying to help you and the rest of the men.”

            “You don’t need to worry about _me_ , sir.” Still that resentful tone. “I’ve done my job, haven’t I? No matter what, I do my job. We all do. What are you going to do with the Commander if he can’t do his job?”

            “I’m not sure yet. Perhaps you could give me recommendations.”

            “You’re the Jedi, sir. We’re three years into this war. Surely by now you _know_ how things work in the army.” Boil stared at the wall just to the right of Obi-Wan, grunted a bitter laugh. “I guess it’s not treason to say that we’re made to die at your command. It’s the truth. You can do what you want with Commander Cody, as long as he’s capable of following your orders. That’s what he’s there for. That’s what we’re all made for, right?” Boil’s voice rose and his face began to break from its stony expression into an injured snarl. “So, Ghost’s friend _didn’t_ die a meaningless death. _Waxer_ didn’t die a meaningless death! They _died_ because it was their _duty!_ ”

            Obi-Wan struggled to keep a calm expression—not because he was angry, but because Boil’s outburst filled him with a sluggish dread and terrible sadness.

            “Is that right, General?” Boil quieted down with some effort. “Isn’t that the entire point of us? What good is a clone who can’t fight?”

            “You’re recommending I… remove Cody from the army?” Obi-Wan asked faintly.

           Boil laughed humorlessly—it was more like he was spitting out breaths, like the air in the room disgusted him. “If he can’t fight… what else is there? His life is over whether you recondition him, or let him get shot, or send him off like the Five-Oh-First’s captain. But maybe he can still pull himself together. _I’m_ still here.” Boil slapped himself on the chest. “If paying special attention to the men after heavy losses actually helped anyone, you’d think our leaders would have done something like that after Umbara.”

            The accusation in Boil’s voice was unmistakable. Obi-Wan wanted to sit down, overwhelmed by everything he’d managed to ignore for so long. “I think I understand, now,” he sighed, leaning against the wall instead. “You’re saying that singling Cody out will either brand him as defective, or… mean admitting that the entire army is….”

            Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how he meant to finish that sentence. Human? Of course the clones were human… a subset of human, most said. It was convenient to believe in such classifications.

            “Hmm. Maybe I’m defective too, sir,” Boil said, voice suddenly as light and matter of fact as if he were commenting on the weather. “I can’t stop being angry. I’ve tried… I can’t stop. It’s like they said—I’m just not the same now. But I haven’t let it get me killed yet. That’s the best any of us can do.”

            “I don’t suppose it would mean anything if I offered condolences now,” Obi-Wan murmured regretfully, half to himself.

            “Sir… as far as Jedi Masters go, sir, we’re lucky to be serving you,” Boil said, and Obi-Wan could tell he meant it despite his anger. “But no matter how good a clone is, or a Jedi, at the end of the day, a Jedi is a Jedi… and a clone is just a clone. That’s the way it is.”

            “And I can’t find any fault with _you_ for saying so.” Obi-Wan stood up straight. “It’s the facts I don’t like.”

            Boil sighed.

            “You wanted the truth, General. But that’s just the way I see things. I’m still fighting for the Republic. I’ll happily die for it, too, when the time comes.” His voice softened, eyes narrowed. “I’ve kept up the fight this long on my own; there’s no sense in turning back now.”

             Obi-Wan wondered for a moment if Boil would truly be happy to die or if he was just using the figure of speech in its common meaning.

             “Thank you for being honest with me.” Obi-Wan resisted the urge to reach out and give Boil’s shoulder a reassuring grip, painfully aware that whatever he did would only seem blindly condescending in this context. “You’ve… given me much to think about.”

            Boil seemed to have reached his limit, and said nothing more.

            “I don’t know how much I can do to change things at this point,” Obi-Wan realized. “But I’d still like to be kept informed about what condition the men are in. Perhaps I can take that into account when planning these assaults, and… prevent a few more casualties, at least.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “You may go, if there’s nothing more you’d like to say,” Obi-Wan said.

            Boil hesitated a moment, then turned to leave.

…

            Cody stood at the foot of his bunk, staring down at the storage crate. He didn’t want to open it. He was much more exhausted than he should have been after their last engagement, and more than anything else he wanted to sleep. But he hesitated, for the same reason he’d been reluctant to return to the ship.

            He pulled open the lid with one hand and his shadow fell on the blue and white helmet inside. The dark T-visor stared at him, and he took a deep breath, stomach aching, a sense of weakness vibrating through every muscle. Heat exhaustion, maybe. Dehydration could do that. He set his own helmet inside and began with the rest.

            “Cody.” It was Kenobi on the comm. link.

            Cody straightened. “Yes, sir?”

            “Could you come to my quarters? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

            “Ah, yes, sir,” Cody said, although his head was swimming a little. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

            It took him that long to put his armor back on and gulp down some water, but the order hadn’t sounded urgent at all. Rex’s helmet stayed in his mind’s eye as if he’d looked at a bright light and was stuck with the neon afterimage no matter where he looked. For a split second he pictured Rex’s head falling from his body and stopped dead in the hallway, his breath catching as he wrestled his mind away from such thoughts, and the tactile memory of holding Rex's armored body in his arms—his dead body, it felt like now, though he’d been alive then.

            “Forget something, Commander?” someone said in passing. Cody didn’t look up, just hurried forward into the lift, his mind repeating the faceless trooper’s question and Kenobi’s two sentences, word for word, until he’d arrived at the General’s door.

            “Ah, there you are,” Kenobi said from a low chair in the middle of the room. He didn’t stand, instead gesturing toward the chair opposite him, brow slightly furrowed. “Please, sit down.”

            Cody stared at the General, then the chair, troubled with this unusual arrangement. But Kenobi raised his eyebrows and Cody came forward to sit stiffly in the chair across from him.

            “Something wrong, General?” he asked.

            “Too much to even mention, I’m afraid,” Kenobi sighed. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

            Kenobi had that terribly sad expression that Cody had only seen on him a few times before. Something about it always struck him deep, a confirmation that here was a Jedi who didn’t scornall emotion, was not distant and unreachable but close and affected. Even lightheaded as he was, he lifted his chin and clenched his fists with determination.

            “Anything I can do, sir?”

            Kenobi smiled a little, just for a moment. Then he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, speaking softly. “Perhaps you’ll allow me to apologize.”

            Cody just stared, full of confusion and worry. Nothing was as it should be, and he had a feeling of being trapped in a dream with half an awareness that he was dreaming. Rex was supposed to be here. General Kenobi should not be saying things that made so little sense. They were supposed to be winning the war, celebrating together….

            He tried to snap out of it, realized he hadn’t said anything to the General, who was looking at him with concern. “Uh, sir,” he fumbled. “I don’t… General, I don’t know what you would ever need to apologize for, to anyone.” For a moment he feared he’d missed something important, just skipped over entire moments of this conversation. He became aware of a faint pulsing feeling in his ears.

            “I’ll add that to my list of problems,” Obi-Wan murmured, and straightened. “Cody… I haven’t been treating you as an equal. Truthfully, I haven’t even been thinking of you as one.”

            “Why are you saying this, sir?” Cody asked, desperate for something to make sense.

            “Because _someone_ should be saying it,” Kenobi said with quiet fervor. “Our silence on this matter may turn out to be one of the worst crimes of this war. The more I think on it, the more incredible it is. I mistakenly thought of myself as your friend, and at the same time, I believed that any connection between _clones_ is… only out of necessity in battle. Why would the Kaminoans engineer a product to have affection and loyalty to anyone other than its owner?”

            Cody swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He’d never heard Kenobi speak about clones this way before—it felt like a slap in the face. And he wasn’t even sure what it signified now, except that the General was also referencing his reaction to Rex’s death. His entire torso felt like it was cramping, collapsing.

            “General Kenobi… I’ve never felt disrespected under your leadership.” It was the only safe thing he could think of to say.

            Kenobi sighed. “The fact that you’re so anxious around me right now suggests otherwise.”

            “Sir, it’s not that I’m anxious about _you_ ,” Cody protested, even though part of him was stinging a bit from what Kenobi had said, disoriented by this sudden shift in their relationship. “I’m probably just a little wired from the battle. And I don’t understand why you’re telling me all of this right now. What does any of this have to do with….” He swallowed again, his mind forced back into the moment after Rex had gone through that door, sitting alone in that dark room, his forehead resting on Rex’s helmet.

            Kenobi wouldn’t stop staring at him with that concerned look. It was only making the pulsing in his ears worse.

            “What I’m trying to say,” Kenobi said gravely, “is that I am sorry about what happened with Rex. I’m sorry that I was so content to believe that you are exactly what the Kaminoans believe you are: nothing more than a particularly well-programmed military servant. Deep down, I knew better, and I ignored it when it was convenient.  But you are as much your own person as any other human.”

            “Sir….” Cody clenched his hands together in his lap, stifled the urge to ask the General to stop, stop saying any more. Every word just added to the weight on his chest. It was easier not to speak now.

            “ _We_ all seem to feel that you are less capable of suffering, somehow, because you have nothing to lose outside the army and its goals. But we— _I_ —failed to realize that when the army is your entire life, perhaps losing your comrades takes a much heavier toll than one might expect.”

            “You’re right about one thing, General,” Cody interrupted desperately, struggling to keep his voice stable. “I was made to fight. I hope you haven’t lost faith in that. I promised you I wouldn’t let this get in the way, and I’m going to keep that promise, I swear to you!”

            Part of him thought those words felt terribly hollow. Sometimes things just didn’t work no matter how long you held out. And that thought terrified him more than anything.

            “Would you let one of your men go into battle with a broken leg?” Obi-Wan frowned.

            “No, sir. Not unless there was no other choice. But this is different. I’m a Commander!”

            “Cody, you can’t fight well in this condition. And you shouldn’t have to. I’d like for you—”

            “I said I would get through this, so I _will!_ ”

           It was something Rex would have said. Cody gritted his teeth against the urge to run away somewhere quiet, alone, to block out this alternate world where Generals sent the leaders of their battalions to certain death, where loss could break him. That happened to those poor few who simply weren’t made properly. It didn’t happen to people like Rex, or to him.

            “You _are_ afraid,” Kenobi fretted. “I’m not going to turn you in like a defective product, Cody. I just told you—you’re more than that. Your feelings about what happened to Rex are natural.”

            Cody sucked in a shaky breath, hunched over in the chair, assaulted by questions he wanted to shout, treasonous questions about _how_ Rex could be thrown away so easily. There must be a good reason. He knew that, heard it all too well in Rex’s parting words that echoed in his head, his confession of inefficiency… but he couldn’t bear those memories. Rex was broken, and he had missed it. Like a child he was still grasping to understand who was responsible, but there was no sense blaming anyone. Some awful part of him kept trying, and he hated it.

            “Please understand,” Kenobi said gently, “I do want to win the war, and I’d rather you be here with me to see it happen, after everything you’ve done to make it possible. You deserve that much, at the very least. I don’t mean this as an insult, but as a _concerned friend_. I’d like for you to help me select a group to send back to Coruscant—anyone in particular need of leave time. We’ve barely given the battalion a break between battles lately. It would be foolish of me to ignore the effect that could be having on the men.”

            Under normal circumstances, Cody would have agreed, would have joked about how much he _did_ deserve to be there dealing the final victorious blows to the Separatists, knowing that Kenobi would smile and indulge his bravado. But he couldn’t summon such a feeling of pride now, not in this space where he felt so exposed, his identity being dissected, the chasm between himself and the Jedi pointed out and labeled _impossible to cross_. He always knew it was, but that had never seemed to matter this much before.

            “And I’m to go with them, sir?” he managed to ask.

            “Yes.”

            “Am I being demoted?” Cody’s voice quivered just a little, despite his efforts to hold it still.

            “Ideally, I’ll have one of the Captains take up temporary command until you’re ready to command again.”

            “Sir, this command is….” _All I have left_ , Cody thought. “It’s a source of strength, for me. I know the other men are looking up to me, and I…well, I don’t want to disappoint them. That keeps me focused. If anything, it’s probably what _I_ need most right now. I respectfully ask that you reconsider.”

             “Hmm.” Kenobi looked conflicted. “I don’t know….”

            “Sir, like it or not, this _is_ what I was made to do. What else is there to give my life any meaning?”

            The General frowned deeply, “To start with, your relationships with the other men. With Captain Rex.”

            “That’s irrelevant now,” Cody said tightly, barely getting the words out as another cold wave broke on him.

            “Is it?”

            “General, _please_.” He couldn’t prevent a note of pleading. “I can still be useful.”

            “I don’t want you to merely be _useful!_ ” Kenobi instantly looked apologetic for raising his voice, and made a quieting motion with his hand. “I’m sorry. Don’t think of this as a punishment. If it makes you feel any better, this is strategically necessary to keep the army efficient, and that isn’t just me being sentimental or indulgent. It’s simply the truth. Even you must admit this is an army made up of human beings, not droids.”

            Cody just sat, pressed into his seat by a sense of futility. “Yes, sir,” he said dully.

            “I have to do what I think is best for the men,” Kenobi sighed. “Apparently I still don’t always know what that is.”

            “If you don’t know, then why are you so determined to take me away from the front lines?”

            Kenobi hesitated, and Cody felt overwhelmed by the realization that all this time, the two people he was closest to in the world had such significant parts of themselves that he had failed to see. Rex with his defectiveness, Kenobi with this… Cody wasn’t even sure what to call it.

“I suppose,” said Kenobi into his hand, “it feels too much like sending you to your death. I don’t want to lose you, Cody. I especially don’t want to have your death on my conscience.”

            “You’re a General, sir. That’s your call to make.” The Jedi had the wisdom and the authority to make life and death decisions with the troops. With the captains, and commanders. With Rex. “And I’ve always trusted that you know when it’s worth the sacrifice. That’s not going to change.”

            As soon as he said it, he felt a little better, a tiny bit worse. He wasn’t a Jedi, and didn’t understand how things supposedly happened through the will of the Force, as he’d heard Kenobi say once or twice. But he had to trust that their leaders knew what they were doing, at least. As much as it hurt, as much as Rex being sent away like this felt like it should have been impossible, there would be no peace outside of acceptance. He knew that, consciously. And yet his mind kept asking why, kept wanting to reject the truth, determined to throw itself back into the painful limbo of uncertainty again and again. Rex had admitted his fault, but it felt like a betrayal to agree.

            _Rex is gone,_ he told himself, throwing flimsy words at the monstrous, invincible knot of pain in his chest. _Nothing will change that_. There was only the war now, the Jedi, the Republic. He had to hold to that authority, get back to some measure of normalcy. It was all he had left.

            “I’m doing this all wrong,” Kenobi said under his breath, staring at the floor, chin resting on his fist.

            Cody decided it wasn’t worth trying to speak when he didn’t know what to say to that.

            “That’s really what you want?” Kenobi asked softly. “To stay on the front lines? If it is, then….” He straightened suddenly. “It should be your decision. What do _you_ want to do?”

            “I want to do whatever is best for the Republic, sir,” Cody said. “I’ll return to Coruscant.”

            Kenobi didn’t look happy about that, either.

            “Sir….” Cody tried to think of what he could say to make Kenobi stop acting this way. “I know you never wanted to be part of this war. And you worry about everything. You’ve always done right by us, though. You don’t need to start worrying about that now. As far as I’m concerned, I….” He was cut off by the memory of teasing Rex about Skywalker, and had to catch his breath for a second. “I got the best General in the army.”

            “That’s kind of you to say. You’re a good man, Cody. I hope to have you back before too long.”

            “Thank you, sir.” There, that felt a little more like reality. “Is there anything else?”

            “Well… that’s up to you. Is there anything more you want to say?”

            A simple question, and Cody didn’t want to say _anything_. Rex’s name was blocking his throat and he didn’t know why, didn’t know what he meant to ask, or what good it would do. The words of the questions would not arrange themselves into anything meaningful in his mind, and he knew if he opened his mouth, it would just be the name, hanging there, prompting more concern, more confusion. He kept his mouth tightly shut and shook his head. His head felt like it was vibrating with every breath.

            “Alright,” Kenobi sighed. He stood, and Cody forced himself to his feet in response without even thinking, glad that the vibrating feeling didn’t turn to dizziness. “You and your group will depart at fifteen hundred tomorrow. That should give you time to get some rest first.”

            “Yes, sir. I’m headed to quarters right now.”

            “Very good.” Kenobi raised a hand and briefly touched Cody’s shoulder plate. “Thank you.”

            “For what, sir?” Cody asked, exhausted by these strange behaviors. Some small part of him wanted to laugh, to make a joke, get the General to realize how awkward this was and lighten up, but he just couldn’t summon the energy or the words.

            “For everything,” said Kenobi. “For all your hard work.”

            “Same to you, sir. I’ll see you at fifteen hundred hours.” Cody took an experimental step toward the door, and Kenobi didn’t immediately show objection, so he hurriedly turned to leave.

            The corridor outside was mostly empty, and he kept up a brisk pace so no one would stop him and force him to talk. His throat hurt as if it were injured, but he’d told Tucker about everything, the aching in his stomach, the weakness in his limbs, the lightheadedness, and the medic had said all his scans checked out. It was infuriating. Maybe he’d have to bother him for a muscle relaxant anyway.

            His pace slowed as he approached his quarters, remembering what waited for him there. He couldn’t forget about Rex, not after nearly seven years of friendship. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t—Rex was a part of him, as deeply ingrained and natural as the feeling of a blaster in his hands. And that part being gone would keep hurting until it didn’t anymore, until it closed over like… like the wound in Rex’s shoulder and lung.

            Anger and pain blinded Cody as he turned a corner on autopilot; he nearly ran into Lieutenant Meer, their armor plates clattering in friction for a moment.

           “Ah, sorry, Commander.”

           He couldn’t manage an apology and just hurried into his quarters, breathing, just breathing, which was hard enough to keep quiet. Rex had still been injured. But what did it matter if someone was already injured when they died? The thought pounded in his head anyway as he stripped off his armor, irrationally certain that he should have been able to feel Rex's injuries under the armor, just as he should have noticed all the signs that Rex was falling far beyond his reach.

           The helmet was waiting there in the bottom of the chest, and he forced himself to look at it, even counting some of the tally marks before putting his armor in. At last, he shut the lid, and Rex’s face went into shadow, left to suffocate in the darkness of space as Cody walked away.


	15. Chapter 15

            Rex watched as the hyperspace distortions on the viewscreen cleared, returning to the familiar star-scattered blackness of space. The closest star system was three light-years away; he was sitting in an expanse of absolute nothingness. He checked the coordinates and knew he was exactly where he needed to be. But it didn’t feel like it.

            It had been a long flight. Days of nothing to see but the dreamlike tunnel of hyperspace, nothing to hear but the hum of his small vessel. He had tried to sleep through as much of it as possible with the help of sedatives, but his waking moments had left Rex feeling like with every passing hour, his connection to anything and anyone that had ever mattered to him was slipping away into the memories of a life that belonged to someone else. His entire existence had been one of solidarity and mutual purpose; now he couldn't help but think of his battalion and know he would never see the face of a brother again. He understood it in his mind, yet every time he thought of it, his chest tightened as if he were realizing it for the first time.

            Never before had he felt such an overpowering desire to abandon his mission. Just turn the ship around and run back to the Republic, run as he had onto that battlefield in Umbara, relying only on the thin hope of enough people believing his desperate words before anyone could shoot him down. Would Cody believe him? Kix? If they did, would others turn them in to be executed?

            But he knew he couldn't do it—he couldn’t abandon the mission. No matter what it felt like in the face of the nothingness of space, he was here for a reason. The Separatist super weapon had to be destroyed, and by now, any chance he had ever had of stopping the Chancellor was hundreds of light years away. If he ever returned, he would be a traitor, a deserter. This was his last chance to serve the Grand Army—to serve his family. There was no way for Rex but forward.

            Rising from the pilot’s seat, he forced his surroundings back into focus. The readings on the console glowed; he let his eyes wander over the controls, the smooth material of the seats, focused on the fact that his breath came with less and less effort as time went on—anything but on thoughts of what he was leaving behind. He had only a few hours at most to live, to perceive anything more. Rex stretched his aching shoulder and picked up the datapad Skywalker had handed him just before they’d parted: special instructions to be read before disembarking in the one-man craft. He’d already memorized and then repeated the instructions from Agent Soltam multiple times on the way here; what more could there be to instruct?

            He turned it on, aware this would be the last thing Skywalker ever said to him.

            _Rex,_ the instructions began. None of the usual time-stamping or military structure of a mission file, and even General Skywalker observed such things most of the time.  Rex sat back down in the pilot’s chair. This was a personal message.

            _Rex_ , the message said. _Sorry I couldn't tell you this in person—things probably haven't been easy for you._ _But this had to be kept quiet until you were out of contact_. _I’m not going to just allow a good man to be sent to his death like this. That’s why I asked for you to be sent on this mission. There’s a narrow chance for survival, but it’s still a chance, and I want you to take it. In any case, I figure it’s better than what they would do to you on Kamino._

            _Echo has a contact behind enemy lines who agreed to help you disappear, if you can get clear of the ship before the explosion. I don’t know who it is, but Echo trusts him. You should know that Echo's the one who brought the possibility of this mission to my attention. He seems to be looking out for you. Maybe he's trying to make up for what happened._

            _At the end of this message are some instructions to put your communicator on the same frequency as his contact. Key in the distress signal after you've destroyed the ship and hopefully he’ll come and pick you up before anyone else can get to you. But Rex, remember you are supposed to have died on this mission. If the enemy gets a hold of you first, you know what to do._

            _It’s too dangerous for you to try and contact me from Separatist space. Don’t even try it. I doubt we will meet again. Try and make a life for yourself out there. Whatever you do, do_ not _come back to Republic Space. And_ forget _about this conspiracy of Fives'—you have to promise me that. You’re resourceful, and smart enough to stay out of trouble. I know you won’t waste this chance._

            There was no stamp or signature at the bottom, just a space and then the promised set of instructions.

            Rex stared at the screen, mind racing, heart jumping a little. General Skywalker was… telling him to desert. He almost didn’t dare to give in to the hope that was painfully flooding him in a feverish rush. Skywalker told him to forget about the conspiracy, but Rex knew that was one promise he would not be able to keep. If Skywalker knew what was truly at stake, he wouldn't be telling Rex to forget about it—he would be orienting every moment, every action, toward stopping it from happening. And that's exactly what Rex would do. It would be difficult to proceed from behind enemy lines, but he knew from experience that the small space between _difficult_ and _truly impossible_ could make all the difference. There was still a chance to save the Republic, and everyone he’d left behind.

            Filled with new determination, he followed the instructions to reconfigure his communicator. Then he carefully punched in the commands to direct the ship toward the nearest star on autopilot and double-checked his work even though it didn’t matter so much now where the ship would go. He jumped to his feet, put on his new, unmarked helmet and passed through the doors into the small airlock at the back of the ship where the ugly little one-man vessel waited for him.

            It really did look like a bit of space debris. Unevenly formed, the outside had been purposely blackened with scorch marks and made to resemble a warped piece of a larger ship, or even a bit of rock if one didn’t look too hard. Feeling slightly giddy, Rex checked all his gear before he pushed the button to open the hatch up top: jet pack, fuel, oxygen, magnetic action on his boots, everything strapped tight, sealed and working properly. He checked his front pack for the materials to enter the maintenance hatch and transfer the virus to the ship, made sure they were all accounted for and securely stowed, then strapped the pack on. He heaved himself to his feet, shoulder and chest screaming in protest. He gave himself a moment to clear his head and catch his breath, and then it was up the ladder of hand and footholds set into the vessel’s side before sliding into the cockpit.

            This was the sort of mission commandos were usually sent to do—demolitions, assassinations, that sort of thing. But even they weren’t usually sent where there was no hope of return—the time and effort spent creating their specialized units was too high a price to be squandered lightly. Rex thought of Diode Squad, of Echo, out there doing special missions, and felt a swell of gratitude for his friend. He hoped Echo would have the time and means to keep searching for a solution.

            The cockpit was cramped, even smaller than an escape pod. There was barely room to move with his pack in there. Rex shifted it to the side before he activated the magnetic clamps so it would stay secure against the wall. The hatch closed and sealed, then Rex sent the command to the carrier vessel for environmental controls to disengage and the ramp below the vessel to open.

            Strapped into his seat, he felt weightlessness kick in. He fired up the engines, ran pre-flight checks. Everything by the books, everything looked over twice to make sure the vessel was ready to go and would operate properly. Smoothly, the little piece of rocket-powered debris flew away from the ship carrying it. The controls were a little more sensitive than what he was used to, but soon Rex had come about and was headed at a steady pace toward where the super-weapon was supposed to be.

            He kept his eyes on the long-range sensors, waiting with bated breath for the tiniest blip. Minutes passed in which he repeated again, under his breath, the calculations he’d need to input for his final approach before cutting power.

            There. He had it on sensors. The thing was massive—it could only be his target. Now there was only a narrow window of time for him to shut down power before it sensed him. With cold fingers he punched in the target coordinates and the calculations necessary for his flight trajectory. It took a few minutes, and every step of the way he ran through the order in his mind again, saying it out loud to make sure he got it right. The formulas weren’t that hard with the computer doing most of the work, but he couldn’t afford to be sloppy or overconfident. The results came back and he came to a full stop, steered the ship to the exact point recommended by the computer, and edged forward again at low speed, adjusting by tiny increments until his trajectory matched what the computer was saying.

            “Course laid in,” he whispered at last, no General Skywalker around to hear him. He gave the engines a tiny burst of power—the little craft moved at a leisurely pace, nothing there to obstruct its approach toward the invisible pinprick of darkness ahead. “Initiating shut down.”

            He synced the ETA countdown with the chrono on his wrist. The engines went dead, the lights and screens blinked off. There was a nearly inaudible buzz of circuits burning themselves out, then nothing.

            In the sudden silence and near-total darkness, Rex's breathing was loud in his ears. He checked to make sure his oxygen was flowing properly. The faint rhythmic hiss of his suit’s support systems was comforting in the overwhelming emptiness, the only light now coming from the pinpricks of the stars and the glowing numbers ticking down on his wrist.

            There was a hole in the starry globe he drifted in, dead ahead… a black smudge no bigger than his thumb, blocking out the stars. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it grew. He kept his eyes on it, occasionally glancing at the numbers counting down even though it was still at least thirty minutes to arrival. His heart rate jumped, his breathing hitching, so loud, when a stray thought brought him back to the reality that he could very well still die. This could still be the countdown to the end of him, and, should Echo fail, the end of the Republic’s hope of survival.

            Another hiss, another breath, each one closer to his last, one way or another. And another, and another. He shut his eyes, dredging up the courage and determination he’d always been able to rely on during moments like this. This was for the Republic. Not only that, it was personal. It was his friends—his _family_. No way could he lose focus now. The darkness and silence and oppressive sound of breathing and blood flow pressed him further into his restless body, trapping him on all sides with the vast sense of emptiness. But he kept his eyes fixed on the ship, narrowed the universe down to tunnel vision, thinking with satisfaction of all the people the superweapon would never get to kill. It would go down in flames, and he would watch.

            The next set of information was the method of accessing the maintenance hatch. Between calm but increasingly loud-seeming exhales, he pictured the schematic he’d studied from the mission file. Getting to the array would be easy enough. Entering the hatch—also easy. Activating the virus—that was the complicated part, if only because things had to be done exactly right the first time. Still, all things considered, it was a pretty straightforward mission. But adrenaline was already in his system, building up as if the little craft were a bubble sucking in energy from surrounding space and trapping it inside.

            Ten minutes. The black smudge took up a fair amount of his view now, and he could only just start to make out any variation on its surface. He pictured each motion he’d need to make to smoothly eject. At five minutes he would unstrap, pull the pack on and get into position. At two minutes he would open the hatch, pull himself out, spot a target landing point, and adjust stance to jump. It would be easy.

            The chrono was at eight minutes. As soon as he left the vessel, he would turn, activate the magnetization on his boots, bring his feet down firmly onto the surface of the beast, and there would be no risk of drifting away. Even if he did, the jet pack would bring him back.

            Seven minutes. Segments of the ship’s hull were beginning to look distinguishable. He could still see a fair amount of starred space in the lower part of his viewscreen. He was going to pass under its belly—no, over its back. He saw the giant array and realized he was upside-down… or the ship was. There was no other point in sight to judge his position against.

            Six minutes. It never hurt to be prepared too early. Rex unstrapped himself and set about the awkward task of putting on the jet pack, moving slowly, adjusting for the fact that nothing stopped moving on its own in zero gravity. A tug here, a tug there—the pack bounced lazily between his shoulders like a balloon before he had it strapped securely. All the while, his own breath hissed in his ears.

            “Five minutes,” he whispered, crouching on the seat, and was struck with how, if he had broadcast it, the only people or droids or computers to hear his voice for… lightyears, probably, were on the very ship he was about to float under… over. He wondered how many.

            The numbers seemed to be going more quickly on his chrono. Three minutes. He braced one magnetic boot against the wall, checked his suit’s seals and oxygen readings again, and pulled hard at the lever by the door. The last bit of pressure and gas burst out of the crack opened in the hatch, and Rex disengaged the final lock. The door swung out, and he pulled himself up slowly, breathing, into the dark, eternal space between his tiny space rock and the behemoth it was passing. His eyes were drawn irresistibly to the stars all around him, almost every direction stretching away forever. He felt like a dust mote, drifting in the darkness, not even a beam of light to make him visible.

            Well, there was the light on his wrist. One minute, thirteen seconds.

            His boots held firm to the vessel’s surface, though he could lift them if he wanted to, with some effort. The feeling of being connected to something, even if it was a lifeless hunk of metal, was reassuring as he craned his neck to try and judge his distance from the ship. It was hard to be confident in his own depth perception when everything was so dark and huge. Even his white armor was dim, a dark grey on black, like snow on a clouded night.

            Fifty seconds. Hissing breath and the whirling blur of stars on his periphery as he searched the hull.

            Forty seconds. There were thin, even stripes of a lighter darkness on the hull above him. A ladder?

            Thirty seconds. It was the only variation that seemed promising. He’d have to risk it.

            Twenty seconds. His eyes jerked repeatedly between the chrono, his wrist raised to eye level, and the ladder—yes, it was a ladder. It was a bit of a steep angle, but it was a better target than the rest of the hull, smooth and featureless as far as he could tell.

            Fifteen. He crouched and straightened experimentally. His boots held tight. He shifted one foot to the side, sliding it roughly into a firmer stance.

            Ten seconds. “Nine,” he breathed, turning on his headlamps. “Eight. Seven. Six. Five.”

            He crouched slowly and grabbed one of the bars on the door, disengaged the magnetism in his boots.

            “Four. Three.” He tightened then loosened his grip. “Two.” Eyes off the chronometer—on the ladder. “One.”

            He jumped.

            There was no wind rushing in his ears, no sense of air resistance or push or drag as when falling within a planet’s atmosphere. The only indication of speed was what he saw with his own eyes. The stars were all below him, the ladder rushed forward and down at him much faster than he expected. Quickly reengaging the magnetism in his boots, he cast a hand up to catch at the rungs as he passed, but snatched at nothing—he had misjudged the distance. He grasped again at the last rung and his fingers grazed it before he passed on, sliding through space just parallel to the ship, his back still to it.

            Automatically, he hit the jet pack controls to turn, and his body whirled. His knees and helmet scraped the hull and he bounced away, twirling wildly in space.

            Stomach trying to lurch free from his body, Rex gave another short burst on the jet pack, one on each side, to stabilize. It took a couple tries, but then he was facing the ship again, drifting back toward it, heart thudding fast. He brought his boots up underneath him, felt them connect to the hull, first one, then the other in a jerky lunge.

            A relieved breath burst from him and echoed in the helmet. “Made it,” he breathed, and the unresponsive stars made him think of the last time he’d been out in space like this, with Fives and General Skywalker, trying to rescue Tup. He took another heavy step and blocked his mind from going any further. No distractions on this mission. Not until the ship was taken down.

            Slow and steady was the journey toward the array. It loomed over him, a massive concave dish affixed to a long shaft like a bullet the size of a _Venator_ -class Destroyer, raised two hundred meters above the surface on a wide base. The hologram and the numbers hadn't prepared him for just how large this ship and its accompanying super weapon were. Rex could easily see how a single weapon of this scale would be fraught with technical issues, and he was both amazed and disgusted by the enemy's boldness. He was lucky to have landed within eight hundred meters of the base, but as he walked, the array barely seemed to be getting closer.

            The next half hour drifted by in a silent, starry hike. Rex tried to keep up a quick pace; he had enough oxygen for the rest of the mission, but who knew how long it would take for this contact to pick him up? His skin chilled at the thought. Echo had gone to Skywalker with a request to save his life; Skywalker wouldn’t have thought to ask Echo for contacts in Separatist space. That information must have been volunteered. It was a terrible risk Echo had taken on his behalf, drawing attention to himself, just as Rex had warned him not to. He hoped Echo knew what he was doing.

            Finally, Rex put his hand on the towering cylindrical base of the array. Everything was coming along. He closed his eyes and imagined the schematic, then realized he was close to the hatch. He followed the mental schematic until he was standing below a featureless rectangle bolted into the side of a wall some twenty meters above him. He stepped onto the wall, and the wall became a floor, the entire orientation of the ship shifting in a dizzying way from long to tall. He looked away from the ship toward to dish and traversed the few paces toward the door and knelt down. The bolts rimmed the entire perimeter of the door, just as expected. He took out his tools from his front pack, magnetized them, and set to work.

            As he knelt, onehandedly unsealing the bolts on the door according to his instructions, the adrenaline of the mission started to wear off from the methodicalness of the work. Still, it was impossible not to look up between bolts and take in the vast profusion of bright specks in all directions, joined by faint shadows of colorful nebulae. It was different than sitting in a ship. There, infinity was distant, an image seen safely through a window. Rex wondered where the nearest inhabitable planet was, and where he would hide if he survived this mission. What his life could have been if he didn't have to focus on destroying the chips. If he had been free to make whatever life he could, what would he have done? Would any society ever have accepted him? He was almost relieved that it didn't matter.

            When the last bolt was off, he lifted the door from where it was set in and flung it out away from the ship. Then he lowered himself in.

            The hatch was small and cramped. He entered a few paces toward a turn in the compartment which opened a little more widely into what Rex knew to be a computer terminal. He couldn't help but wonder how the Republic had come up with all this information. Must have been from someone who had worked on the ship.

            He took a deep breath and recited the passcode to himself before entering it into the sleepy blinking terminal. After he did so, more lights on the computer wall turned on and the hatch itself was illuminated with a green glow from above. He pulled the chip from his pack and inserted it into the slot next to the main screen of the terminal. He still didn't know much about computer systems, but the mission file had made the rest sound simple enough. He input the series of commands he had memorized into the keypad without even watching the screen. It wouldn't have made a difference—rote memorization was easier than navigating this foreign system. 

            “Just a few more,” Rex murmured to himself, needing to hear something other than his own breathing. The dream feeling was back. What was he doing in this moment? Everything had changed the night Fives died. Tup’s murder of General Tiplar, the General’s strange dreams about him betraying Cody, had all led up to that, but that was the moment it had all changed, when the way things were supposed to be had died. No matter how he’d tried since that moment to resurrect the reality he knew, to wake from the bad dream, the awful truth always came back.

            Suddenly, he realized he didn't remember the last button he had pressed. He felt dizzy and laid his palm on the wall, breath coming short. No, no losing focus now. That awful truth, the faces flashing in his mind—those were all the reasons why he had to finish this.

            “You can do this,” he said under his breath. “You _have_ to do this.” Oxygen was at twenty percent. He couldn't remember the button he pressed but he knew he didn't have many more. He looked into the screen for the first time and realized it was only waiting for him to confirm that the data on the chip was to be uploaded into the array's targeting system. This was it then. “Sorry,” he murmured with a faint grin. “You’re not killing anyone from the Republic today.” The last button sank into the keypad.

            It was time to go— _now_. The virus was going to make quick work of the superlaser. Rex demagnetized his boots and threw himself toward the exit of the hatch, then kicked himself away from the ship with as much force as he could muster, then slammed on the jet pack controls. A few seconds of sustained propulsion got him going at high speed, the ship shrinking rapidly between his feet. Then once more, there was only his breathing, only the imagined sound of his heartbeat as he went up and back into nothing, reminding himself there was no need to even look where he was going—there was nothing to crash into, after all.

            Every bit of instinct and training he’d been given screamed against what he was doing. To drift alone in space, far away from any larger more detectable object to never be found, to suffocate alone and be swallowed meaninglessly by the void. Even against the conscious knowledge that he was no safer on that ship, it felt like a loss to watch the super-weapon vanishing toward a microscopic point.

            When it was no bigger than his thumb and still shrinking, he saw a green glow begin in the bowl of the dish. The superlaser seemed to be charging—then without warning, an eruption of light pierced through the back end of the massive bullet-shaped mount of the dish, and that was all he managed to see before the ship disappeared in a soundlessly expanding oval of brightness. It roiled outward in front of him, a silent film. Rex threw up his good hand to shield his eyes.

            Secondary explosions kept the bubble of light alive for a few more seconds, emerging and dissipating irregularly. Rex saw specks of darkness quickly growing, brought into contrast by the blast. Debris, flung out by the energy of the explosion—they grew farther apart from each other and passed him by. The pieces would keep flying away with nothing to stop their frantic journey, until something else pulled them into orbit. He wondered… if he pushed his jet pack to the limit and continued at that pace, would he also find a star or planet to circle? If he died out here, how long before his armored corpse was pulled in by the gravity of something else?

            Oxygen at fourteen percent. A few quick, careful taps of his fingers on the comm. on his wrist, and the distress signal began to transmit, the blinking from it corresponding with the rhythm of the radio.

            This was it. Nothing now to do but wait.

…

            Rex had never been claustrophobic in his life. Considering that much of a clone’s life was spent in growth acceleration chambers or the narrow sleeping pods on Kamino, it wouldn’t make sense to allow for such a fear. Now, as he drifted endlessly, even despite the way his breathing stayed too loud and his pulse too noticeable, it wasn’t that his suit felt too confining. The universe around him was so vast, the very size of it felt as if it were shrinking him, compressing him into a glass ball where he spun, slowly, near-motionless and helpless to see anything but black… black and white, white specks in his vision that seemed like hallucinations, kind, cruel illusions of some distant life far away which he could never reach again, which had never really existed. Direction, purpose… it was all false. There was no up or down. There was just endlessness, and silence, his own breath, the sight of his own legs and arms the only evidence that he existed at all. But even those were starting to seem flimsy.

            He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing, conserve oxygen. His body was absolutely still—what reason could there be for his breath to come short now? But the beating of his heart resonated through his scarred chest like strikes on a drum, stubbornly reminding him of death encroaching.

            Purposely he focused on the images he always fought to ignore. Here in the star-flung darkness, the conspiracy began to feel distant and unreal, but he couldn’t succumb to that comforting delusion.

            He heard again Fives’ dying gasp in his ear, Cody breathing shakily—both of them shaking, shaking in his hands. Echo’s blank stare, Tup’s monotonous chanting, his panic, Waxer’s face twisted and tear-streaked, while Skywalker curled in fetal agony under his own men’s blaster fire, smoking and screaming until he went still. Commander Tano, lightsabers raised, her eyes wide with disbelief before she too jerked in flashes of light and fell, silently, eyes defocusing in a split second between passionate life and death.

            Rex’s breath hitched and he eased off, but closed his eyes again after a brief blink to shake himself from the nightmare. _That_ was why he had to live. That was why he was here, waiting, risking everything on this contact of Echo’s.

            Rex swallowed the fear that rose inevitably with those images. There was hope. There was hope even if no one was coming. Even if he didn’t survive. He had to believe that.

            Suddenly he was falling, and panic pulled his eyes open, one arm flailing out from where he’d kept it tight against himself. He _was_ moving faster now, backward, not forward as before, and he couldn’t turn around. Something irresistible was pulling him in the opposite direction he had been drifting. He reached for the jet pack controls but paused, thinking.

            His heart began to pound. He was caught in a tractor beam. The contact had found him— _he was going to live_.

            As the tractor beam pulled his body into the ship’s hangar—bare to his view but for a few empty cargo containers—he wished he had his DC-17s, even if this was an ally. The airlock closed, the tractor beam disengaged and the return of gravity sent him thudding to his hands and knees. Cold pain bolted through his left shoulder.

           Rex was on his feet just in time to see the door open. A tactical droid stood less than a dozen paces from him, an E-5 rifle in one hand, an empty holster strapped awkwardly across its wide, short chest segment

            The warmth Rex had felt at the prospect of being saved evaporated into stony chill and he hurried to pull off his helmet. The tactical droid walked toward him in that steady, soulless way of a machine, gun raised. Rex threw the helmet at it and reached into the small compartment on his belt where a poison pill given to him by Agent Soltam was waiting. 

            Rex had the pill halfway to his mouth when the helmet collided with his face, thrown back at him by the tactical droid. There were two clanking footsteps; something metal struck his wrist so hard the pain shot all the way up his arm. An iron grip yanked his shoulders forward, and a split-second scream tore at his throat when the droid’s knee drove itself into his wounded chest, crushing his armor where it made contact.

            He dropped to the ground, doubled over, gasping, momentarily blind. With effort, he opened his eyes, saw the pill as a white dot, a star on the dark floor of the hangar; he reached for it, and the droid’s wedge-like foot stomped down, grinding it to powder.

            Rex had to think through the pulsing pain and resurging horror. Remaining options: eject into space without his helmet, suffocate and freeze; find a way to evade the droid and destroy the ship and himself along with it. Either way, he had to move fast.

            Panting in shuddering gasps and groans, he rolled from his side onto his stomach, pushed away from the floor, shaking. Knees up beneath him. Breathe. Left arm buckling, right arm extending—

            “Rragh!!”

            The droid pushed down on the back of his neck and Rex’s face hit the floor.

            “Your reaction is one of many possibilities I anticipated,” said the droid, holding him still with one hand and a portion of its impressive weight. Rex could see the flashing light of its “mouth” out of the corner of his eye. “You are the deserting clone I agreed to retrieve. I will not kill you. You will not be allowed to harm yourself.”

            Rex cast about desperately in his mind, fighting through the fog of pain, straining against the weight on his neck. Somehow the Separatists knew about him and his mission. Who had talked? He had no weapons. No allies nearby to distract the droid or jump it from behind, tear off its head like he so wanted to do right now. Right now, his physical strength was no match. All he had were his wits.

            He relaxed and unclenched his fists. “Alright,” he panted, practically kissing the deck as he struggled to turn his head. “You got me, _droid_. What do you want?”

            “Your cooperation will make this situation less painful for you.”

            “I’ll tell you anything you wanna know,” Rex said.

            “This is not an interrogation. I am not interested in Republic intelligence.”

            The droid’s flat digital voice filled Rex with hatred. He gulped a few more deep breaths. It thought it was a _clever_ droid, trying to play mind games.

            “Then _how_ do you think you know anything about me?” Rex rasped into the floor.

            The droid’s face disappeared out of his periphery. “I was instructed to follow your distress call, and informed that you would be without a ship. The probability of finding a single living thing stranded in space is low enough that I am certain you are the human I was meant to retrieve.”

            His rescuer was dead. This droid must have captured and then replaced whoever it was… after torturing them for information. It was the simplest explanation. Either that or Echo’s contact had betrayed them.

            “And who informed you of all this?” Rex dared to ask.

            “The intermediary.”

            Rex wanted to rage against the hand holding him down, but he had to bide his time if he wanted any chance of escaping this interrogation. He’d never heard of a droid using tactics like this, but no doubt some were capable of it.

            “Who?” he repeated.

            “Unimportant. We must leave these coordinates before we are detected.”

            The metal hand eased off his neck and settled on his arm instead, just above the elbow. When Rex turned to look, the end of that E-5 was pointed right at his face.

            “You do not trust me,” the droid said. “This is necessary. I predict you will attempt to destroy me or steal my weapon for use against yourself. For the time being, you will be confined to the quarters I have prepared, to prevent… damage.”

            If this droid trapped him in some kind of cell, any chance he had to avoid torture would likely disappear until they reached whoever this droid was going to gift him to. If he resisted, the droid would either stun him, kill him, or continue to feign harmlessness and give him a chance to strike. Two out of three options that would keep his intel out of enemy hands… those were decent odds.

            “Stand,” the droid commanded, and his grip on Rex’s arm lightened.

            Rex twisted and aimed a heavy kick at the blaster. It clattered to the floor a few feet away. He lunged for it. His chest seemed to burst as he hit the ground, grabbed the gun and rolled onto his feet in a low crouch. Icy fire ran up his shoulder and into his skull, and his left hand was shaking so wildly he wondered if he would be better off firing the rifle one-handed.

            He lost his balance as he tried to rise—winded, vision blacking out—and in that split second the droid was on him again, trying to wrench the gun from his hands. Rex’s determined grip on it yanked him to his feet—he dropped his weight to try and throw the droid. No good; the thing’s stance was sturdy as stone. Rex straightened, shaking violently, sweating, but he didn’t let go.

            “As I predicted,” the droid said, answering Rex’s glare with glowing white, indifferent eyes. “You are a hazard to me, to my ship, and to yourself. You will agree to follow me to your quarters, or I will stun you and carry you there.”

            “Alright,” Rex panted through gritted teeth. He released the gun and pinned his shuddering left arm against his side with his other hand. “I’ll go.” Better to have his eyes open for any further opportunities… even if his vision was swimming.

            “Excellent.” The droid stepped around behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Rex could practically feel the gun pointed at his head. “You seem unusually weak for a Republic clone. I did not expect to cause any lasting damage with my attack.”

            Rex stepped forward at pressure from the droid’s hand, wishing he had a good response to that. Like a blaster bolt to the head.

            Beyond the hangar was a dim hallway, cold, perhaps even colder than the hangar. The skin of his face tingled at the chill where it wasn’t still burning from being scraped against the floor.

            Everything in the ship was bare and sterile, wires and workings exposed in places as if a repair crew had disappeared in the middle of their work. Rex made mental notes of what he saw, matching it to what he knew of basic ship design in case he got a chance to hotwire a system-wide disaster. He would need time for that, though—not now.

            The droid stopped him at the second door they came to.

            “Open it.”

            Rex clenched his teeth and pushed the button. Before his eyes had even taken in much of the room’s minimal features, he noticed warmer air meeting his face. The droid pushed him firmly inside and then shoved him forward a few steps. When he turned around it was blocking the doorway and had both hands on the rifle.

            “Do you require anything?” it said.

            Rex glanced around. It really did look like a cell, if a bizarre one. There was a sleeping pallet on the floor right in the middle of the room, next to an empty storage container that came up to just below his knees. “What is this?” He picked up one of nearly a dozen drink packs on the floor.

            “Water.” The droid pushed a button by the door and a ray shield flashed down around Rex.

            “What—!”

            “You may use the storage container to hold your human waste. I will bring you nutrition cubes as needed.”

            “You expect me to believe that you’re not taking me prisoner for the Separatists?” Rex growled. “With all _this?_ ” He gestured at the ray shield.

            “I do not expect you to believe it.” The droid had turned to go, but twisted its top half to look at him again. “You will continue to rely on your experience, which conditions you to identify droids of my design as a threat. Until this conditioning is changed, I will deprive you of any ability to cause damage.”

            The droid left; the door shut behind it. Rex looked at the water pack and wondered if there was some sort of drug in it to make him talk. No sense risking it, even if he was thirsty. His throat felt raw.

            He strained to look beyond the glowing distortions of the ray shield. There wasn’t much in the room he could have used to “cause damage” anyway; the room was completely empty but for a small sink and shelf area over in the corner. If not for the ray shield, he could have possibly pried open one of the panels on the wall and accessed controls, or pulled up the grate in the floor beyond which was most likely a maintenance pit. But it would take a lot of time with no tools or weapons, and only one good arm.

            The pallet was stiff and thin. Rex was used to that. Once seated, he took stock of himself. He had none of the supplies he usually carried into battle, just the armor and jet pack.

            Rex swept the room one more time, searching for cameras. He didn’t find any, but that meant nothing. Up above him was the ray shield emitter, only vulnerable from outside the cone of light that trapped him. His helmet was gone. Perhaps the jet pack could lend him some force to catch the droid off guard in a second attempt to steal a real weapon.

            He looked with disgust at his arm, which was still shaking visibly as if a live current were running through it. Spasms of pain kept radiating from his shoulder, and he could barely control his fingers. No, he was no match against the droid like this. He was never going to get his hands on the gun for long enough to do anything. But maybe he wouldn’t even need to leave this room. He could rig the jets on his pack to explode—make it quick, instead of the slow burning alternative.

            Carefully, still panting from the pain, he took off his crushed armor and examined the jet pack. An explosion would require a build up inside the pack, which meant he had to find a way to block the openings for the actual jets. Perhaps if he used them to superheat some of the smaller armor plates, they would melt enough to create a seal? But then they could just as easily melt off, canceling the explosion, and he’d be wasting fuel that could be used in a more direct—albeit more painful—death by fire.

            Rex stared at the jets and wondered what would be the quickest part of his body to target. If he breathed the emissions directly, it would scorch his insides, he would black out and die from suffocation… yes, the face would be best. His torso had proven too resilient.

            He expected to feel more disturbed by this line of thought, but it was the possibility of living that worried him most. Was he missing his chance the longer he waited to try it? What if he somehow survived the burning as Echo had survived the blast in the Citadel, and was left even more helpless in Separatist hands, having done half their torture for them? What if he simply couldn’t keep applying the heat long enough to die, but let his body’s reflexes betray him into a temporary escape?

            Rex shivered and shoved the jet pack off his lap with his right hand, fuming at his own hesitation. Cowardice. He had been ordered to avoid capture at all costs, life included. But more than anything, he wanted to live to see this conspiracy defeated. His comrades were in danger. If the droid was alone, there was a chance to defeat it. So a part of his mind argued, but the rest of him scoffed. What chance? He couldn’t fight like this.

            He couldn’t take his eyes off the jet pack. A poison pill was one thing. It worked instantly. But this….

            The door opened; the droid was back, still holding the rifle.

            “No one is in pursuit. Danger of detection has passed for now.”

            “And where are we going?” Rex weakly pushed himself to a stand, wishing he hadn’t taken his armor off.

            “To the Akuria system. The second moon of Akuria One will provide an ideal hiding place for you. It is isolated, with no intelligent life forms. I understand you are trained for survival in harsh environments.”

            “I don’t plan on hiding forever, droid,” Rex growled. “Why _exactly_ do you think I’m deserting in the first place?”

            “To enhance the probability of your long-term survival,” the droid said. “To become free from the control of other life forms.”

            “And what is the point of freedom if I’m stuck on a planet where I’m the only person who exists?”

            “It is the only place you would be free. Among intelligent organic life forms, you are merely property.” The droid tilted its head slightly.

            Rex felt his face twisting, shuddering like his shoulder, and it was just as difficult to control. “I don’t _care about_ —!”

            He stopped himself. Better not to give any hint of his true purpose… better for the droid to think that he was deserting for selfish reasons that had nothing to do with anything truly important. If it was even telling the truth about where they were going.

            After a few deep breaths he managed to say, “Fine. But I’d still rather risk it and try to pass as a normal human being on some _inhabited_ planet somewhere. I don’t care if I have to wear a disguise. Maybe a droid wouldn’t understand this, but most _organic_ creatures don’t really want to live their whole lives without anyone else around.” His face was still quivering maddeningly—the pain in his shoulder must have his nervous system on the fritz.

            “Hmmmm,” the droid said in one long, single tone, circling him. “I do not think that is a good strategy.”

            “Well,” Rex huffed, bristling as it passed behind him. “Of course you would say that. You’re probably just taking me to some secret base to be interrogated. Handing me off to your master.”

             “I have no master. I am independent.”

            “Right.” Rex rolled his eyes. “An independent Separatist droid. You expect me to believe that?”

            “No. This conversation is becoming redundant.” The droid had reached the door again and switched off the ray shield, gun trained on Rex.

            “Go on!” Rex taunted, heart hammering as he stared down the barrel of the E-5. “Get it over with.”

            The droid came closer, and Rex stood tall until the gun was nearly touching his chest. Then the droid stepped on the jet pack and kicked it backwards. It skidded its way out the open door.

            “You are injured,” it said, kicking his armor away as well. “I will reconsider our destination.”

            Rex lunged forward without thinking, but the droid flung out an arm and threw him backward. He crashed down onto the mat and was left gasping helplessly as the ray shield came down again. The pain was making it hard to focus on anything, but he still heard the droid’s voice loud and clear.

            “I am not programmed to deal with medical concerns. It will be up to you to prevent any further harm to your body in the interim. I agreed to keep you alive and in fair condition. I intend to honor that agreement, but you seem determined to subvert me in this. Your resentment toward droids is truly impressive.” The droid’s flat voice made everything it said sound sarcastic.

            Rex struggled to sit up, his head not agreeing with his body about what position he was in. He managed it just in time to see the door shut again. Once again, it was just him, breathing loudly in the silence.

            Just as he feared, he’d missed his one opportunity for escape. What had he been thinking? He bowed his head and pulled his disobedient arm back against his body, breath hissing shakily through his teeth in uneven gasps. There was nothing now for him to use to avoid interrogation, nothing but his own unsteady mind and the failing strength of his body. _I won’t let you down this time, sir._ But he had. He had failed his last promise to his General.


	16. Chapter 16

            Echo had taken several flights to and from Kamino since his implant’s activation. It was always in small ships like this, and he had expected that after nearly a year, he would be used to these days of silence and solitude. But it hadn’t been truly silent in his head for a long time.

            RC-7721 and 7722 were in the pilot’s seats. Echo sat in the back with the other commandos, and there was no steady stream of information, no presence of the other four in his mind. His memories of when they had been one entity still felt vaguely foreign, and in that sense his present self felt more closely tied to the moment when he’d first awoken to a world of one-way sensory input, no voice, no vision, no way to connect or interact with anyone.

He’d talked to the commandos several times since leaving Anaxes, but never for very long. Now, staring at them and contemplating the moment when they would all become one unfeeling mind again, he realized why.

            “Sir,” said one of the commandos. Echo thought it was RC-7724—it was so disconcerting not to know for sure, even though it didn’t matter that much. To speak to them felt in some ways like touching one’s own numbed hand, mistaking it for someone else’s. “We will arrive at Tipoca City in approximately thirty minutes.”

            “Ah,” Echo said. His voice was extra hoarse from not speaking for hours. He paused, dreading the end of the journey, the return to the confinement of the lab. It was so hard to focus, but he needed to be prepared. “Doctor Sa Eno will want to run tests right away… and ask for details on how the connection between us was disrupted.”

            “And we’re to volunteer that information, sir?”

            “Yes,” Echo confirmed uneasily. “But omitting anything having to do with the Chancellor or Rex’s accusations. She should understand that some things are classified by Republic Intelligence. And with any luck, she’ll only be interested in the technical problems we faced.”

            “And if she isolates you for further experiments?”

            Echo took a deep breath. “If she works on integrating my chip with the implant… you should try to gather as much data on the process as you can. Maybe you’ll learn something about how to disable it.”

            “Yes, sir,” said 7724 after a pause.

            They returned to silence. Echo tried to tell himself that returning to what he had been before the malfunction would be a relief. He would be free of emotion, any sensation of loss or fear. Being able to mull over what had brought him to this point was only getting more painful the longer he was conscious of himself. But to be insensible and without will was the same as being dead.

            “Helmets off,” he commanded on impulse.

            Without hesitation, 7724 and 7723 removed their helmets and set them on their knees. They were identical, of course, no distinguishing hairstyles or tattoos or scars. But Echo was fairly confident who they each were. They looked at him expectantly, and in that moment he saw them as the children they had been not long ago: smaller, eyes wider and full of doubt as their faces tilted up at him. Their trembling had faded like a brief technical hiccup when they became extensions of his body.

            He didn’t know what to say. Would an apology mean anything?

            “Are you alright with this plan?” he asked instead.

            “Sir?” asked RC-7724.

            “I’m asking a lot from you,” Echo realized. “All of you. I’m asking you to lie to Sa Eno, possibly as one of your last actions before I… before I take command again.” It sounded so normal… not at all the horror that it was, to be completely at the mercy of another person, overwhelmed and erased.

            “Yes, sir,” said RC-7723 firmly. “Everything will be back to normal efficiency soon.”

            “Normal efficiency?” Echo whispered, feeling sick. He turned to RC-7724. “Do you agree with him?”

            RC-7724 blinked twice and glanced at RC-7723, then back to Echo. “It is a fact, sir. Isn’t it? Unless….” His brow furrowed ever so slightly. “Doctor Sa Eno decides to separate us from you permanently.”

            “You’ve all proven that you can function without me controlling your actions.” Echo sighed, his voice turning bitter. “Maybe I can convince her to let you remain independent. But I doubt she’ll agree to it. That would defeat the purpose of her project. I’m sorry.”

            “Sir, you are our base unit,” RC-7723 said. “We weren’t meant to operate without your direction.”

            “But don’t you want to?” Echo got up and walked toward the pilot seats. “Wouldn’t you rather be in control of your own bodies? You’ve been monitoring me for days, making sure to keep me alive even though I—from the beginning, I’ve treated you like you’re not even real people! Why do you care? I _know_ you’re all different. You may be linked but you’re still individuals! I’m not going to pretend I haven’t realized that. Maybe in front of the doctor, but not when we’re talking face to face.”

            RC-7722 looked up from the controls, craning his neck to meet Echo’s eyes. “We function best with your direction, sir,” he said simply. “How can we reach our full potential as a squad without you directing us?” Echo saw nothing but absolute trust in his eyes, and it scared him.

            “You _functioned_ just as well when I was out of commission,” Echo insisted. “Better, even! Your potential isn’t being fulfilled—it’s being wasted. In a real squad, everyone has different strengths, and that makes them greater than they would be on their own. But you—we—we’re five soldiers shrunk down into one droid!”

            “A specialized unit like ours requires only a narrow focus of strengths,” said RC-7724 from behind him. “We functioned well in Drann because we had Captain Rex to direct us. And he also agreed that we needed you at the head of our unit.”

            “ _We_ ,” Echo sighed. What was the use in getting them to admit that they wanted freedom? Perhaps they didn’t. And they would be happier for not wanting it.

            “Diode Squad is not complete without you, sir,” said RC-7721 softly, staring at his own hands resting lightly on the console. “We were made to work as one.”

            “That’s not true,” Echo groaned, pressing his fist into his forehead. “It’s not me at the head of your squad. It’s someone else. It’s a machine. Not Echo.”

            “Sir,” RC-7723 broke in sharply. “You _are_ our commanding officer. We are all in agreement. We look forward to having you back in command. It doesn’t seem likely that you will lose all interest in preventing the conspiracy once your implant is restored. Our purpose is to protect the Republic at all costs.”

            “Are you alright, sir?” asked RC-7724.

            Echo pulled his hands away from his eyes; the faces around him were bleary.

            “You’re all different,” he sighed wearily. “Seven-Seven-Two-One, you almost never volunteer to speak, but you’re always watching the rest of us when we do.” RC-7721 twisted suddenly in his chair to look up at him, seeming startled. “And you,” Echo said to RC-7722. “You took the initiative to ask me about Rex’s suicide mission. You asked questions about General Skywalker. No one else did that.”

            RC-7722’s face fell into an odd, thoughtful expression.

            “Seven-Seven-Two-Three, this conversation seems to be making you uncomfortable,” Echo observed, desperate for some sign that he wasn’t just imagining all of this.

            A corner of RC-7723’s mouth turned down. “You forget we are still monitoring your brain waves. I am merely distressed by your distress. It will soon be corrected.”

            “You’re right.” Echo leaned against the wall of the crowded cockpit, feeling defeated. “Hopefully, once she realizes that the chip is what’s keeping us from reconnecting, she’ll remove it.”

            Raging against his fate was no good, and wouldn’t help him help Rex. These children had learned long ago that to embrace it was the only option. He would have to learn the same—for the sake of the Republic… for Rex and Fives.

            By the time the ship began to break through Kamino’s atmosphere, Echo’s stomach and throat felt even more raw and hollow than usual. Although RC-7723 and RC-7724 went back to their seats, he stayed standing behind the other two, watching the roiling mass of dark grey splattering water against the ship as they descended through layers and layers of clouds. Then the turbulent ocean beneath slowly became distinguishable from the rain falling into it, and Tipoca City was the only thing which kept its shape, growing brighter and closer until they settled down onto the landing pad.

            “A smooth landing,” Echo said.

            “Thank you, sir,” said RC-7722, and Echo wondered sadly whether the young commando felt any pride in the compliment, apart from the most rudimentary absence of friction between what was commanded and what had been done. That was the only thing even resembling satisfaction Echo could remember feeling while his implant was fully functional.

            He and the others donned their helmets and opened the ship’s ramp to the gale. The wind flung sheets of rain halfway up his legs before he’d even set foot on the landing platform. Silent under the roar of water on all sides, the five of them crossed to the nearest city entrance.

            Sa Eno was waiting for them just inside. Even if she hadn’t been wearing her usual green lab outfit, there was no way Echo could mistake her face after seeing it stare down at him so often. And now he was still looking up at her, even standing on his feet. Her gaze rested on his chest, and he realized she was looking at the hand print he’d recently repainted there.

            “Ahh,” she exclaimed with soft concern when the door shut. “When I heard your implant malfunctioned, I feared the worst. Are all your sensory modules operational? Can you hear me?”

            “Yes, Doctor,” Echo said, and took off his dripping helmet. “As far as I know, all my physical processes are functioning normally.”

            With long white fingers, she touched his head where it met the implant, circling behind him. “There was no damage to the hardware? I was given so very little information about this, and you’ve been gone for so long. We must return to the lab so I can run a full diagnostic.”

            “Yes, Doctor,” Echo sighed as she gently steered him forward by the shoulders. He heard the commandos fall into step behind.

            “Are you having trouble breathing again?”

            “No,” Echo said hurriedly. “No, I’m fine….”

            “You sound short of breath. Are you sure your support systems are undamaged?”

            “They are undamaged, Doctor,” said one of the commandos, startling Echo. “We have been keeping tabs on them ever since the incident.”

            She stopped—Echo looked up to see her blinking her wide, dark eyes at the one who had spoken. “ _You_ have been?”

            RC-7724 continued. “We have established a one-way link up with Echo’s implant—” Sa Eno’s head tilted sharply “—in order to prevent the conflict which originally triggered the malfunction. Some of his nonessential functions are being limited as well.”

            “Incredible. The implications of what you just said…!” Her voice was startled, but she spoke in that same peculiarly methodical way all Kaminoans did. “You are saying that the four of you have, in effect, taken administrative powers of the network upon yourselves? You are now in control of… _Echo’s_ implant?”

           It felt wrong to hear her say his name. Echo realized he had never used it in front of her. The squad hesitated. “Yes, Doctor.”

            “Who directed you to do this?” She didn’t sound upset… merely curious.

            “Anyone we could have taken orders from was out of commission. The circumstances demanded we take charge.”

            “I see!” She again began shepherding Echo down the pristine hallway, long neck curved slightly to the left in an intrigued posture. “Perhaps this crisis you faced is the key to understanding all potential uses of your programming.” Her voice was taking on a fascination Echo remembered all too well. “As I thought, it only required the proper stimulus! Or perhaps it was the prolonged exposure to a clear and accessible model of leadership to emulate….”

            When neither the commandos nor Echo replied, Sa Eno lapsed into a restless silence, rubbing one finger under her chin as she often did whenever gripped by a puzzle in his design. She did not speak again until they were just outside the lab.

            “You haven’t told me what triggered this malfunction in the first place.”

            “A computer virus—” one of the commandos began.

            “—a virus?” Sa Eno's wide eyes grew even wider.

            “Yes, Doctor, but it’s also a lot more complicated than that,” Echo said in a rush, trying not to stare at the door as she opened it.

            “How so?” She ushered him inside with the gentle, insistent pressure of her hand, and in single file he and his squad walked in. The surgical tables, the glowing hologram-equipped computer terminals, the precise dimensions of the place with its partitions between work areas—all of it was too familiar and brought an onslaught of memories, of clutching to the edge of the desk there, relearning how to walk. Echo found the exact place he’d fell on his face the first time and let his eyes rest there, although there was no mark on the floor to distinguish it. But most of all there was a kind of difference in air pressure, just on the edge of smell or hearing—perhaps it was the exact configuration of radio waves coming from the electronics around him—an impression of being _here,_ just here with nowhere else ever existing.

            “How is it complicated?” Sa Eno repeated, stepping into his field of vision.

            Echo jerked out of his daze and tried to remember what he was going to say.

            “The virus merely triggered a defense reaction against other systems,” one of the commandos volunteered after waiting a beat.  “Control was then transferred to a separate chip in his brain, which caused him to become unresponsive… and to misinterpret orders.”

            Sa Eno was looking more and more perturbed. “In what way?”

            Echo swallowed, although it did nothing to ease the dryness in his throat. “I… took violent action against civilians I was ordered to clear from the battle zone.”

            “It was not a conscious decision,” said the commando. “Once the chip relinquished control, we detected no aggressive impulses.”

            “I see….” Sa Eno looked disturbed, glancing at each of them in turn. “Why don’t you—” she paused awkwardly. “Why don’t the five of you put your armor away? Then we can review your performance and begin the tests.” She turned toward the computer terminal by the middle table—his bed, Echo thought dully to himself. So many hours he had spent on it.

            Together they walked to their special unit quarters just down the hall. Echo stole glances at the squad as they removed their armor, and they occasionally returned his gaze impassively. He wondered what they were thinking. There was only the dull sound of friction as they stowed each piece in their cabinets and changed into their numbered fatigues. This had been Echo’s room for about a year, and for much of that time he had shared it with Diode Squad. But in most of his memories, hooked together as they were, it still felt as empty as if he slept there alone.

            They finished before him, but stood still facing him, waiting for him to leave the room first. It was habit, he suspected. As he walked past them and through the door, they fell into step behind him, single-file.

            “Unit Zero,” commanded Sa Eno, motioning to the bed. “Or… should I call you Echo, now? Who gave you that nickname?”

            Echo sat and then lay on the table at her silent urging, watching her face as she hooked his implant up to the computer. That ceiling….

            “My batchers. The cadets I trained with called me Echo.” Fives and Hevy flashed in his mind’s eye, frustrated, yelling at him. _Shut up, Echo!_ He looked away from the ceiling; Diode Squad stood near the foot of the bed, staring at him.

            “Is there any particular reason you’ve instructed the others to call you by it now?”

            “I didn’t….” Echo felt something shift in his head, like the hum of an extra motor just below his hearing. “The captain we served under remembered me from when I went by it. They must have picked it up from him.”

            “I see.” Her tone of voice changed back to her usual directness. “It seems the program which keeps your emotional processes in balance is offline, as well as nearly all your analytical and connectivity functions. I thought as much from your behavior. I’m going to try to restore it and the rest of your systems, but before I do, I’d like you to upload your memories of the missions you were on, starting with the latest one.”

            “Echo was not conscious for much of our mission to Anaxes, and Republic Intelligence ordered us to keep our mission confidential,” said RC-7723, before Echo could make himself speak. “But we shall transfer our memories related to his malfunction. They are more complete than Echo's. Uploading now.”

            Sa Eno sighed and gave them a disapproving look. “Curious. Did you appoint a temporary leader of the squad in Unit Zero’s absence?” Her slight vocal stress on his lab designation felt like a weight on Echo’s chest.

            “No Doctor, not formally. We chose a spokesperson in order to communicate more effectively with our Captain, once Echo—once Unit Zero was disconnected from us.”

            “And were you that spokesperson… Unit Three?” She looked at the number on his fatigues.

            “At one point. At another point it was… RC-Seven-Seven-Two-Two.”

            “Based on proximity to the Captain, I suspect?”

            “I’m not sure, Doctor.” RC-7723 stiffened a little.

            “You don’t know the cause behind your own actions?”

            “It was largely subconscious and random, I suspect.”

            “ _You_ suspect?”

            “I speak for the unit. We made the decision of who would speak without conscious deliberation.”

            “Interesting. ” She turned back to the computer terminal by Echo’s head and called up the files.

            Echo could hear the audio from a portion of one of their earlier missions for Republic Intelligence, and for the first few minutes, he listened, pretending the emotionless voice in the recording belonged to some other clone. It wasn’t hard. He zoned out as he stared up at that ceiling, so blank and smooth but for two tiny scratches. For so many hours he had tried to focus intently on the soft shadows cast by the arching support beams, to find something in their shape that would take him away from his ruined body and the endless tests.

            It was those shadows—grey on pearly white—that he had woken up to so many times, his first reminder that he was alive and forever altered. As his vision had slowly regenerated with the help of the implant, he had finally noticed the scratches, and wondered if he imagined them. Where had they come from? There had been times when the only thing he could bear to think about was those two scratches, imagining every bizarre situation which could have brought them into existence. Perhaps one of Sa Eno’s rarely-seen assistants had gotten frustrated one day and thrown something in the air. Perhaps they been there from the beginning, relics left by a clumsy construction crew, from one of their tools or while trying to fit one of the large machines that lined the wall behind his bed.

            For a moment Echo heard his own breath become shallow and was overcome by the sensation of oxygen tubes running down into his lungs, attached to a mask pressing tight into his face, with restraints strapped over his chest and legs. He was trapped.

            But he wasn’t. When he lifted his hand to reassure himself, Sa Eno glanced sharply at him.

            “What’s wrong? What is it?”

            “Nothing.” Echo took a deep breath and closed his eyes, putting the hand over his heart. “Nothing. I just….”

            She paused the video and checked the readings on his implant. “No notable changes….”

            “Unit Zero is disturbed by the fact that his normal processing functions were overridden by this chip,” said RC-7723. “We would all prefer to be re-integrated as soon as possible.”

            “Well, alright.” Sa Eno said, smiling a little. She turned back to the screen she’d been watching. “Show me the file from when this chip first took control.”

            Echo heard the dialogue, familiar at first, then moving beyond his memory after a short pause.

            _“It’s coming from here, alright. I can see it transmitting. It made its way through an old industrial sensor grid. But the actual program that’s reproducing it is heavily encrypted and only accessible through this terminal’s local network. Let me just see if we can bypass the encryption…. Beginning decryption.”_

_“He’s cut off.”_

_“What? What do you mean?”_

_“I’m not in communication with him anymore.”_

_“Echo.”_

            The sound of Rex calling his name crept through Echo’s veins as a numbing sense of helplessness.

            _“Did the security system kick him out?”_

_“I'm not sure. I can only access the most rudimentary processes of his implant now. Awaiting orders, sir.”_

_“Echo!”_

_“Sir! We were instructed not to unseal our suits or else face radiation poisoning!”_

_“It's alright, kid. I don't think there is any radiation. At least not in here.”_ A slapping sound. _“Look at me, Echo. That’s an order.”_

            There was a pause, and then Sa Eno froze the recording. “Curious… if I re-create this situation, it could be useful in determining exactly how this happened, and how to prevent it in the future.”

            “It seems likely that if Unit Zero’s functions are restored, the conflict will occur in exactly the same way. We had to temporarily disable the chip with a localized electrical pulse before we could regain control of the network.”

            For a moment Echo’s body went cold in anticipation and his eyes opened, but she didn’t move from her seat.

            “Show me the file.”

            There was silence, followed by a quiet buzz and spark. Sa Eno frowned at the display and Echo wondered how far the squad would allow the file to play. After a few moments, the voices started again.

            _“Sir! Don’t move.”_

_“What’s going on—where am I?”_

            Echo’s stomach twisted at the confusion in his own voice. It was an odd sensation, listening to himself.

            _“Sir… are you alright?”_

_“W….”_

_“We’re in Drann. How do you feel?”_

_“D… I killed… I killed Rex… When?”_

            Sa Eno’s eyes widened and she paused the recording to look at him. “You did not tell me you killed your commanding officer.” Her voice was quiet, breathy.

            “I didn’t,” Echo half-whispered. “But I thought I did. I could have.”

            “And you have no memory of doing this?” She stood up.

            “I do remember, but I was helpless to prevent it.” Echo’s throat felt tight and he stared up at her, silently pleading but without daring to even turn his thoughts into mental words.

            “This chip… this… malfunction… is even more serious than I imagined,” she sighed. “I suppose your stress symptoms are no surprise, especially considering the fact that your mental processes are unstable right now. I’m impressed you managed to complete the mission at all.”

            Echo hesitated, eyes downcast, hoping one of the others would answer for him. They did.

            “We were severely delayed in completing the mission. Unit Zero was unable to assist after this point.”

            Sa Eno’s smooth face contracted, the taut skin bunching around her eyes and forehead. “I see.” Her voice was faint. “Well… our highest priority will be to fully restore your systems. There may yet be some way to prevent the conflict once I have an opportunity to analyze it.”

            “You’re… going to _let_ the chip override my implant?” Echo’s skin prickled with dread.

            “Yes.”

            “But,” Echo said desperately, coming up on one elbow, “Doctor, this chip—the conflict with my implant could be dangerous, surely you realize—”

            “You are unarmed,” she said gently. “You cannot harm me. Besides, the other four will be here to protect me.”

            “Doctor,” RC-7723 interrupted. “We have called up the video of when Unit Zero misinterpreted orders. For your own safety, we believe you should review it before proceeding. It may help you to prevent triggering any violence once his chip is activated.”

            Echo stared at RC-7723, startled, and the boy blinked back at him. _What are you doing?_ Echo thought, and wondered if RC-7723 could still distinguish his thoughts clearly enough to understand. It was risky to show Sa Eno the Chancellor’s order to him. There was a possibility she might know of the conspiracy and believe they knew too much. _Rex ordered me not to give any sign that I suspect anything!_

            “Very well,” Sa Eno sighed. “I _am_ curious.”

            RC-7723 stared back at Echo intently, as if forgetting that Echo couldn’t receive the direct communication they had shared before.

            Sa Eno sat back down and played the video. The Chancellor’s voice faded in.

_“….is a direct order to give the destruction of this virus the highest priority. These Mrlssi must not be allowed to stand in your way. You must clear them from the area and destroy the virus by any possible means.”_

_“It will be done.”_

            Blaster fire rang out, followed by terrified inhuman shrieks. Echo squeezed his eyes shut even though the video was not playing within his line of vision. Still, the vague images from his memories surfaced anyway, blasting bright light through the skulls of the Mrlssi before turning his rifle on Rex, not once, but twice.

            _“There he is!”_

_“No, ECHO!”_

            Two shots, interrupted by Rex’s choked screaming, so much worse to hear in the sterile quiet of the lab rather than his own clouded memories. Echo clenched his fists, his jaw as tight as the knot in his stomach and told himself that he hadn’t killed him, he had saved him, but he didn’t know that for sure—there was a chance Rex hadn’t made it, that his plan to save him had failed.

            The voices ended abruptly. Sa Eno breathed.

            “How… disturbing,” she whispered to herself, and Echo knew she hadn’t missed the fact that his second shot at least had been deliberate. Seconds passed and he heard no further movement. At last he opened his eyes and turned them toward her. She was staring at him, her posture cautious.

            “Please, Doctor Sa Eno,” he whispered hoarsely. “I… I know you can find a way to make sure this never happens again.”

            Her eyes narrowed and for a terrifying moment he thought she was glaring at him; the solution would be to start over with another clone. But then she came closer and he realized the expression was a mixture of pity and determination.

            “I will. But in order to do that, I must analyze the malfunction _while_ it is actively occurring.” She pushed him gently back onto his back and began strapping him to the table.

            “What do you mean?” Echo creaked. Icy shocks of fear washed through him in waves. His hands felt numb. “You’re going to try and get me to misinterpret orders again?”

            “No, of course not.” Sa Eno laughed nervously under her breath as she moved around behind him. “Hopefully, once I find a way to restore your systems without activating the chip, I will also know how to keep it from being activated by accident.”

            “Oh,” Echo breathed in relief. “Right….”

            The squad fanned out a little from where they were bunched at the foot of the bed as Sa Eno moved to strap his legs down too. RC-7723 and 7721 took a small step closer to him and stayed there even when the Doctor had gone back to her computer.

            He looked up at them, wondering how often they had been this afraid, forced to trust him as he was forced to trust them now. All four seemed calm as ever, but as he looked between them, RC-7721’s face held his attention. There was a shallow line between the young commando’s eyebrows, and his eyes were half closed. To Echo, he looked sad, but he wondered if it was just the angle of his head, the shadows tricking him.

            Without warning, he felt his conscious self die.

…

            RC-7724 watched as Echo’s eyes defocused, and felt his presence in their minds shrink, only accessible through the monitoring devices attached to the implant. He wondered if it would feel much different if one of the squad were to die. Would there be a greater shock to the network? When RC-7722 had been shot, it had been unpleasant and startling, but so was this.

            Better not to think about it, they all thought. Sa Eno tapped the computer display, dragging her fingers along the screen to sift through the diagnostic readouts that they could already see clearly in their mind.

            There was more information there than what the device in Drann had given them. Sa Eno’s instruments had more processing power and were more precise. The four of them picked the data apart quickly, like a row of tangled stitches being pulled up by many needles in exactly the right order and place to unravel.

            They could see it, hazily, the pattern of stimulation and repression, neural pathways filled or cleared sequentially to create commands in a programming code both like and unlike the one used by their own implants. They could see how it worked, the place—although it wasn’t really a place—where the conflict with the implant’s commands occurred and Echo’s higher functions were blocked, but to explain it would take ages, like trying to give verbal directions alone on how to build an astromech.

            “Doctor,” RC-7723 said instead. “The firewall in our implants was designed to adaptively classify specific traits of aggressive foreign programs and block any program displaying those traits that it encounters in the future. I don’t think it will be possible to make it mark the chip as safe, now that it has marked it as a danger. And… now that it’s aware of the chip’s existence, internal attempts to suppress it are only encouraging the chip to activate.”

            “Yes, I am aware of that,” she sighed impatiently, half to herself, never taking her eyes off the screen. “I thought I had modified his programming enough to keep the chip undetectable. It is organic, after all, and while inactive it sends no commands the implant should be able to read. Apparently, telling the program it is a mere physical anomaly could only go so far.”

            “The chip is interpreting the very presence of the network as an incoming command. It seems it is designed to shut down the higher mental processes in such an event.”

            “Yes. Now, I’m trying to concentrate,” Sa Eno said.

            “Yes, Doctor. We—”

            “Unless you have a—” Sa Eno interrupted, but she stopped and blinked at the data analysis the squad had just sent her. “Oh. I see.”

            They waited for her to read through it, and as the quiet minutes passed, RC-7724 wondered why the chips had been removed from them, but not from Echo. They knew better than to ask. She was already displeased, which made little sense. When they had been deployed, she had told them—told Echo, and thus, all of them—that they should take every opportunity to use their analytical abilities for the benefit of the Republic. _That’s what we’re doing now_ , he thought. Perhaps she was worried they knew too much. Perhaps she was simply dismayed, as they all were, that Echo was not the one speaking.

             He thought again of their conversation in the ship, when Echo had pointed out minute differences in their behavior. Echo's mental state was painful, but they didn’t think it was so important to be distinguishable. Surrendering to his thoughts usually meant greater unity, safety and clarity of mind, a kind of confidence and purpose that was difficult to duplicate without him. Still, RC-7724 wondered, if Echo had said something about him as he had for the others, what would he have chosen as a distinguishing characteristic?

            They looked at Echo’s hands resting loosely on the bed. _You are the hand, they are the fingers_ , Sa Eno had said once, and then corrected herself, amused, because hands have no mind of their own. But the analogy had its uses. Fingers were different dimensions and arranged in a certain order to best suit the purpose of the hand. RC-7724 knew he was separate from the others and had a specific place, and Echo recognized that too. But a finger on its own was not nearly as effective as the full set working together. Agreement surrounded him, like standing in a room full of mirrors.

            They hoped Sa Eno would finish reviewing the data and make a decision soon. In the meantime, Echo’s physical read outs played in their minds. They could see his vital signs, the commands from the implant to maintain his respiratory system, low-level brain activity, nervous system and sensory modules. 

            Beyond the room the flood emergency and security system webbed through the city. In hundreds of classrooms and training labs, educational programs were running. They could feel every right and wrong answer if they wanted to, and calculate the success rate for each batch. They could analyze data on the development of dozens and dozens of embryos, or check the score charts for various training exercises.

            But somewhere in this vast network, there had to be some record of the chip’s development, instructions for its installation and removal. Standing still, they carefully probed the database on Sa Eno’s medical computer, the one that held their history. The security on it was fairly light, and they already had clearance to most everything in the cloning facility, but….

            “The implant isn’t responding to any of my overrides,” Sa Eno growled under her breath. “I will have to disable the chip again….” Sa Eno straightened and stood, deliberate but slow. “Call a medical droid.”

            “Yes, Doctor,” RC-7723 said, and transmitted the request immediately. “The droid is on its way.”

            While the droid was en route, they sent their data on the procedure to temporarily disable the chip. The droid requested more information, and they hesitated. It was possible the confidentiality of the chip was programmed into the medical droids on Kamino, and they would be reported if any inappropriate information was passed to them. But not likely, RC-7724 thought. They sent a small packet of information on the chip-implant conflict and its effects to the droid.

            Sa Eno stood by Echo’s head, her eyes narrowed in thought, her hands folded. They wondered sometimes what it would be like to know her thoughts as well. Would it make her commands less unsettling?

            The door opened and the droid hovered in. “Hello, Doctor,” it said in its chipper voice. “I have already been sent all necessary information. Is the patient ready for the procedure?”

            “Yes,” Sa Eno said hesitantly. She stood back. “Proceed.”

            The droid moved to Echo’s head and extended a small attachment from inside its chassis, which hummed slightly as it was placed on Echo’s skull.

            RC-7724 and the others urgently sent more precise schematics of Echo’s brain and the location of the chip. His brain waves were already dangerously weak—any mistake was unacceptable. The droid adjusted accordingly, by micrometers.

            It only took a split-second pulse. Direct access to Echo flooded back, and they began checking and resetting his systems while he lay, his consciousness half-surfacing.

            “The patient is stable,” the droid said. “The device has been disabled. Doctor, may I ask if you plan to remove this chip?”

            “What?” Sa Eno looked worried. “No… not unless it proves necessary. I only needed to disable it in order to regain access to his implant’s defensive settings. I’m going to see if I can erase its knowledge of the chip.”

            RC-7724 wanted to speak, and so did the others, but whatever they said would need to be carefully phrased. They deliberated while she keyed in her commands. The droid moved to a corner out of the way.

            “There,” Sa Eno whispered. “That should do it.”

            “Doctor…” Echo’s voice was weak and heightened to an odd pitch.  He blinked at the ceiling and fear fizzed through their connection. They considered commanding him to sleep, so they wouldn’t have to feel it. “Did you….”

            “I’ve cleared your defensive programs of any knowledge of this chip. I’m about to fully restore your implant again.”

            Echo took a shuddering breath and RC-7724’s body tensed painfully. Then the fear was gone as suddenly as it came, and so was Echo.

            Sa Eno growled in a low frustrated exhale. “It didn’t work. You can’t force your way back into his system?”

            “No, Doctor,” RC-7723 said quietly.

            “We’ll have to try it again. There must be something I missed. Will the patient remain stable if we administer the shock again?”

            “He has a good chance of survival, yes,” the droid said. “I will be very precise. But repeating this cycle multiple times is not advised.”

            “Doctor,” said RC-7723, the tension still not fully gone from their bodies. “We are going to come into contact with aggressive programs in the future, programs like the virus which induced this conflict in the first place. It’s what we were made to do. Even if you can program his implant to ignore the chip now, there’s a good chance the conflict will be reset as soon as we encounter another virus.”

            “What other option do I have?” Sa Eno sighed, slumped over her desk. “I’ve put too much time into this unit to simply discard him.”

            No. The thought of Echo being discarded was not acceptable. For a few seconds, options for what to say were brought up rapidly in their mind, most of them thrown out just as rapidly. The droid was also running through possible solutions, and all at once they reached out to it.

            _Wouldn’t removing the chip be the surest way to save the patient?_

            The droid answered in the affirmative without hesitation.

            “There must be some way to remove the conflict altogether,” RC-7723 prompted.

            Sa Eno looked conflicted.

            “If we surgically remove the chip,” the droid finally said, “there would be no opportunity for future conflict with the implant.”

            “That’s true,” RC-7723 said. “It does seem to be the simplest solution.”

            She looked at them both. For a moment, RC-7724 wondered, they all wondered, what she would do if they tried to stop her from euthanizing Echo. Or perhaps she would keep him alive, continue trying to pull apart the puzzle until the shocks to his system became too much. Either way, if they actively stood against her, her disapproval would only prevent them from finding the answers they’d been commanded to, by both Echo and Captain Rex.

            “It is….” She frowned at the droid.

            It was so hard to predict how she would respond—whether saying something more would tip the scales in their favor or have the opposite effect. They struggled, half certain they should try while RC-7724 and 7721 held back, urging patience. The conflict was unpleasant.

            “I have no choice,” Sa Eno whispered to herself.

            RC-7724 stepped closer to Echo’s head and the others did the same. It would do no good.

            “I have no choice but to remove it.”

            The droid came forward. “Then let us disable it again before proceeding.”

            Everything was going to be alright. RC-7724 took a step back; the squad prepared to give support to Echo’s systems the moment the network was restored.

            As Echo struggled toward consciousness again, Sa Eno injected a sedative that would keep him unconscious for the duration of the surgery. It was a relief. Then the droid went to work, first cutting a small incision, then drilling a hole in the right side of Echo’s skull.

            They watched it insert a thread-thin wire into the hole, and their stomachs hurt. A self-diagnostic confirmed that this was an anxiety response. Probably residue from Echo’s consciousness, they decided.

            At long last the droid pulled the device free from Echo’s skull, fastened a bulky corrective patch onto the open wound, and with the press of a few buttons, the chip was sucked into the attached vial, swirling in a haze of blood that slowly cleared.

            “There it is,” the droid said brightly. “His systems should be free of conflict now.”

            “Good. Dispose of that immediately,” the doctor sighed.

            “Doctor, perhaps we should preserve it for analysis, in case anything goes wrong.”

            “What do you think is going to go wrong?” she protested, but she looked worried. She took it from the droid and placed it in a small pocket on the pouch around her waist. “Alright. I’m initiating a full restoration of all systems.”

            Quickly, steadily, his presence filled their minds as he regained consciousness, and this time there was no fear, no discomfort, only a steady analysis of every new physical sensation as it happened, his eyes adjusting, his hearing restored. They felt his mind stretch out to them and beyond into the network of the city.

           Sa Eno disconnected his implant from the manual link up. He sat up and all at once the connection was complete. He looked at the rest of them, their eyes staring back, and his memory slotted disparate pieces into one coherent timeline. The first step toward saving the Republic was complete. Now they could move on to the next phase.

            “Can you stand?” Sa Eno asked. Echo stood to join the rest of him. “How are you feeling?”

            “All systems are functioning perfectly, Doctor,” he said. “Recommended command structure has been restored.”

            Sa Eno smiled. “Very good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  An [ illustration by JasJuliet](http://ltfad.tumblr.com/post/107357983016/jasminejbatista-thread-by-thread-i-come)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is now a [LtFAD Blog](http://ltfad.tumblr.com) you can follow on tumblr for extra content, fan art of the fic, and maximum feels!

            Something was buzzing. There was always some noise on a spaceship, even if it was just the quiet hum of circuits or life support systems pumping air. But there was something buzzing loudly, and it seemed to be getting louder the longer Rex lay on the thin pallet, breathing the stale air through chapped lips and trying to ignore the fact that every inch of his body was aching.

            He kept his eyes closed. The light from the ray shield only made his headache worse. If he opened his eyes he would see the packs of water he had still refused to touch, the ration cubes the droid had left on the floor in front of him, close enough that Rex imagined he could smell them, even though he’d never thought of ration cubes having much of a smell before.

            They had trained him for this, on Kamino. Resisting interrogation. Choosing deprivation and death when in the hands of the enemy. The hours had passed in increments measured by how many words of the reg manual he could recite under his breath, particularly the sections on procedure in case of capture. All interspersed with confused images of being back in the hospital on Coruscant, back in the lab in Drann, lying immobilized in the dirt somewhere surrounded by the dead Jedi of his dreams.

            His mind ran over the same sentences again and again. Names: Skywalker, Anakin, Cody, Echo. “Fives….”

            The sound of the door opening made his whole body jerk, and he hissed as his cramped muscles and nerves spasmed.

            “You did not obey my orders,” the droid’s grating voice scratched its way into his skull. “You have not eaten any of the ration cubes I left for you. I do not think you have consumed any fluids in the past forty-eight hours. This is unacceptable.”

            Rex pretended to be asleep. Maybe if he was convincing enough, the droid would leave. Maybe it would think he was dead and toss him out an airlock. Not likely.

            The door closed. The buzzing stopped and the light softened. The droid’s steps vibrated through the floor under him, and still Rex stayed perfectly still. Something touched his shoulder, sparking pain and a panic response he could barely fight down. The droid shook him roughly and Rex couldn’t help grunting, a creaky noise squeezing involuntarily from his dry throat. He coughed uselessly, his whole body shuddering.

            “You are conscious. We should arrive on Elrood in approximately one hour, thirteen minutes. You will be given intravenous fluids.”

            There was no way he was going to die or escape before then. The droid would find a way to drug him and get the information either way, Rex realized. _No. No excuses._

            “I know what you believe I am doing, human,” said the droid. “You believe I have drugged the water to prepare you for interrogation. But you are so weak I could easily give you the same drugs with a hypospray, and you would not provide any significant resistance. It is equally ineffectual for you to deny yourself the fluids necessary for survival.”

            Now that his body had started shaking again, he couldn’t get it to stop. Frustration burned his eyes as he opened them to the bleary sheen of the metallic world around him: metallic water packs, metallic floor, and the bent knee of the tactical droid.

            “If you wished to die, then why did you desert? Why did the intermediary ask that your life be preserved?”

            The droid’s droning vocal tone was incapable of much variation, but to Rex it sounded almost agitated. Right. A tactical droid was a tactical droid.

            “You will be required to walk when we land in Elrooden. If you are not capable, I will be required to create an intravenous hydration system for you myself. The result may not be pleasant.”

            Rex turned his head just a fraction of an inch; the room tilted and warped. His body flushed with nausea. He forgot why he had made the attempt in the first place.

            There was a ripping and popping noise, and a moment later, lukewarm water hit Rex’s face, rushing into his eyes and nose, a few stale drops making it into his mouth before he could close it. He coughed and raised a shaking, uncontrollable hand to wipe his eyes. The droid opened another pack, grabbed his wet, trembling fingers and wrapped them around it.

            “It is clear to me now why other species consider your kind to be no more than organic droids. I have a more rational approach to survival than you do. You have not adapted to the situation. You are operating on an outdated set of variables.”

            The droid rose to its feet.

            “I predict you may argue that you are serving some greater purpose by denying yourself. I do not see your point of view. You are no use to any other being or organization if you no longer exist. Certainly you are no use to me.”

            The droid left. Rex heard the door close. He licked his lips and felt a distant sense of guilt, even though his throat was so dry he couldn’t even swallow the drops he’d accidentally caught. Against the voices of his trainers on Kamino, against the angry and disappointed face of General Skywalker, he edged the nozzle of the water pouch closer to his mouth with his uncooperative hand, and after a few wet coughs, he swallowed a mouthful. Then another.

            After the fourth he managed to sit up—to stay sitting up, and wait for the room to stop spinning. His left arm had gone numb and began to tingle painfully as he wiped his scratchy face on his sleeve. It had taken too long for him to settle into a position that didn’t cause blistering needles to stab him in the shoulder and chest, and then he had lost all his will to move.

            Rex looked up. The droid had left the ray shield off. The buzzing was softer; the light was kinder, muted, coming from the edges of the room rather than directly above. But no doubt the door was still locked. Rex finished off the water pouch and drained another one before chewing slowly on a ration cube, trying to think. His head already felt a little clearer, the room a little steadier. He could taste the cube, the gritty flavor of it, and it was deliciously familiar in its blandness.

            The droid had said Elrood, not the Akuria system. Elrood was a populated planet; if they were really headed there, he would need his strength and wits for whatever was in store, especially if there was some chance of escape. He might not be able to fight the droid, but maybe he could lose it in a crowd. If there was a crowd. Best to be ready for anything.

            One more packet of water. One more ration cube between his teeth. Then, forcing deep breaths, Rex grabbed the edge of the empty storage container and hauled himself to his feet.

            It was the first time in—what—the droid had said forty eight hours had passed, at least. It was the first time he could really move around the room freely. Despite its emptiness, Rex methodically paced his way over every square foot of his cell. Yes, the door was locked. The sink in the corner didn’t seem to have been used in ages, and gave no water when Rex tried to activate it. There was no mirror on the wall.

            Rex turned away and circled the room slowly, counting each lap. After twenty, he took a break to eat and drink, to try stretching out his shaking arm. The droid nurse back on the star destroyer—that already felt like ages ago. He had memorized the exercise regimen it had given him. He sighed and went through the motions, extending and recoiling his arm. Ten times in each direction, it was supposed to be, or five if he couldn’t manage ten. After ten in only one direction, the pain had his vision swimming again and his breath coming short.

            Pacing it was, then. Just a little break. Ten rounds. Twenty. Ten in the opposite direction. Elrood. Rex didn’t remember learning anything about that planet, except that it used to be a peaceful, Republic-allied world. Perhaps there was someone among the millions of beings on the world that would help him. The trick would be finding them.

…

            Finally, after Rex had given up pacing and gone on to test his good arm’s strength—hours later, he was sure—Rex felt the ship rumbling with a deep, sustained vibration. It could only be atmospheric resistance. He felt himself shift through long habit into greater alertness.

            After a few minutes, it let up. A few more, and the little ship settled down. He stepped outside of the ray shield’s emission range and stared at the door, waiting for the droid to come in with whatever ally it might have on this planet. The minutes dragged on. Surely it had been nearly half an hour already.

            “Droid?” Rex said hoarsely into the silence, knowing it was probably futile. “I get it. Make me wait,” he sighed under his breath.

            The pain in his shoulder was finally receding to normal levels. Loneliness rushed in to fill its place, and Rex tried to think of something else, anything but the people he’d left behind. But who was this intermediary the droid kept talking about, and what happened to Echo’s contact? Echo, who had been so sure he could do nothing to help. It wasn’t time to give up yet.

             Rex jumped again when the door opened, startled out of memories. Instead of the E-5 rifle, the droid held a bundle of clothing. It turned its flat head immediately toward where Rex stood near the doorway, and threw the bundle at his feet. Instinctively, Rex backed up a few steps.

            “I see you have come to your senses,” said the droid. “Or your injury was simply a ruse. I will know soon enough.”

            “What’s this?” Rex nudged the wad of cloth with his foot, and the droid flung down a pair of boots as well.

            “You will draw unwanted attention wearing… that.” The droid pointed with one of its wedge-like fingers at Rex’s chest, where the Republic roundel was imprinted on his under suit. “Listen carefully, human. I still have clearance codes from the general I served under, which is why I was able to dock here, but they may not be sufficient to turn away all suspicion from citizens of Elrooden en route to our destination. You are to act as my human counterpart. In the event we are questioned, I was assigned as your escort by General Chikset.”

            “Wait. You want me… to pretend I’m some friend of this… General Chikset?”

            “Yes. I will supply any details as necessary. The probability that anyone will question us is already low. Elrood has not been involved in any recent conflict, and will not be familiar with your kind. But it is wise to have a plan for multiple contingencies.”

            Rex stared at the droid, waiting for the catch.

            “What _is_ our destination?” he asked.

            “The nearest hospital. There are droid staff there who will cooperate with me.”

            “And… we’re just going to walk in the front door?” Rex asked skeptically.

            “Yes. They will not refuse a patient who is clearly in pain.” The droid stood still and stiff, blocking the doorway with its body, only its head turned toward Rex.

            “It’s not going to work,” Rex muttered. “The minute they try to do any scans, they’ll probably realize what I am….”

            “I already stated my confidence that they will not be personally familiar with clones of your template.”

            Rex frowned, weighing his options. “Look… droid… why are you helping me?”

           “There could be unforeseen advantages to an alliance between us,” said the droid. “Even if you prove useless, I made an agreement to take you to a place of relative safety.”

            “You’re trying to tell me you’re acting under some sort of… sense of honor?” Rex narrowed his eyes.

            “I would not waste time attempting to persuade you of such a thing,” droned the droid. “If you have no further objections to the plan, then you must put on the civilian clothes I have provided.”

            “I do have one objection,” Rex said, unsteadily lifting his left hand. “This wrist has an identification chip in it. If they scan my arm, they _will_ know what I am. Even if you aren’t trying to interrogate me, you can’t guarantee that _they_ won’t turn me in.”

            The droid tilted its head and took Rex’s trembling wrist in its cold metal grip, yanking it up to eye level to inspect it. Rex gritted his teeth against a shudder of revulsion—trying to pull away would only make the pain and shaking worse. The droid activated a small scanner attached to the side of its head, and a hologram of Rex’s face and basic military history appeared. It hadn’t been updated since the latest mission to Ryloth, Rex realized.

            “This chip could allow the Republic to track you.”

            “Yes,” Rex said after a tense heartbeat.

            “Unacceptable,” said the droid, its white empty eyes seeming to narrow as it dipped its head. “It will be removed. I will contact the medical droid. You will be dressed when I return.”

            It released his arm and left the room. Rex wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake. The droid could be going to confirm his identity to its superiors this very moment. But all he could do was play along with the charade until an opportunity for escape presented itself. The more he knew about the world he was escaping onto, the better.

            The clothes on the floor turned out to be a sleeveless tunic (so worn that Rex could only guess it used to be white), a dark brown hooded poncho, baggy grayish trousers and boots that were an entire size too big. Well, better too big than too small, although he had never worn clothing that fitted him so badly before. It was lucky the pants came with a belt. He was taking experimental paces in the boots, still frustrated by his own unsteadiness, when the droid came back.

            “Where did you find these?” Rex asked. “They don’t exactly smell clean.”

            “I eliminated a criminal. He was carrying a weapon within city limits. That is strictly illegal for anyone who is not under special permit from city officials.”

            Rex stared at the droid, then down at the clothes he was wearing.

            The droid tilted its head. “He was a citizen of the confederacy. Are you feeling pity for your enemies, human?”

            Rex made a disgusted noise under his breath. “You must have been carrying a weapon too.”

            “There was no need. Human bodies are fragile. You must be particularly aware of this.”

            Rex kept his left arm tucked against his stomach, hidden under the poncho, and glared at the droid as he pulled his hood up. “So… we’re going to the hospital. I pretend you’re my droid escort from General Chikset. How was I injured? Some kind of skirmish on my homeworld?”

            “Yes. Agamar. Do not divulge this unless someone important asks.” The droid raised an admonishing hand before grabbing Rex firmly by the arm, just under his right shoulder. “Do not engage civilians in unnecessary conversation.”

            The droid really didn’t have a weapon anywhere in sight, but Rex knew the moment that vice-like hand closed on his arm that the droid didn’t need one. The effortless brutal strength behind that grip did make his flesh and bones feel fragile, and there was no armor now between him and anything the droid chose to do. It could probably snap his arm in half if it tried.

            As the droid steered him down the hall, his oversized boots made him feel clumsy. They weren’t in any danger of coming off, but his clothing and armor had always been a fitted extension of his body. To feel his feet shifting around was disconcerting.

            They entered an airlock just off the hangar—bright light and sound hit Rex from the open gangplank: voices, perhaps even human voices! The rushing of wind was startlingly loud. He and the droid stepped out into the light, and Rex got only a glimpse of other ships along with distracted human and Teltior dock workers before the cool air hit his face and blew back his hood. Desperately he groped with his free, quivering hand to pull it back up.

            “Leave it,” the droid commanded. Or suggested. There was, Rex realized, some advantage to its complete lack of expression. Onlookers could take the comment however they wanted, and only guess from his reaction whether they were right.

            He let his hand drop with a shiver and gave in to the urge to simply look around, struck by the miracle that he had lived to set his feet on solid ground again.

            The port was set on an immaculate, light sand-toned platform extending toward and then over the side of a large canyon. The purplish rock formations below were only hazily visible, but above, the city spread wide and walled in places, glinting with the glass and metal of miniature turbines rotating on the rooftops.  In the opposite direction, patches of bright green blush covered the downward slope of the nearly empty land.

            As he stared, he became suddenly aware that one of the human port officials was approaching.

            “Jek Novar, is it?” said the official, consulting his small handheld. “Will you be taking full responsibility for this droid while in the city of Elrooden? I only reluctantly cleared it to make a supply run. If it is found straying from your supervision inside the city, I am obligated by law to report it.”

            “Yes, ah—yes sir,” Rex said hurriedly. The droid increased pressure on his arm.

            “Forgive the interruption,” grated the droid. “Master Novar is very ill. We must proceed to the hospital at once.”

            “Alright.” The official looked closely at Rex before he nodded briskly. “Do you require transportation? Accommodation? It would be my honor to arrange it for you, sir.”

            “No… I’m fine. Thank you.” Rex managed to keep his own _sir_ silent. “Carry on.”

            And, miraculously, the official passed by with barely another glance. The droid waited until he was several paces away before jerking Rex forward by the arm.

            “You are not very convincing,” said the droid when they were almost to the security gate. “You hesitated in answering to your name.”

            “I didn’t _hesitate_ ,” Rex growled under his breath, heart thudding.

            “You glanced away and hesitated for approximately point-three seconds. Your expression indicated confusion. Your complexion changed.” The droid was, apparently, capable of lowering the volume of its voice significantly.

            “If I’m not convincing,” Rex hissed back, “it’s because you didn’t brief me on who I’m supposed to be. Would _Jek_ _Novar_ wear these clothes?”

            “You narrowly escaped a conflict with Republic forces. You are ill. No one will care what you are covered with.”

            “I’m not so sure about that,” Rex muttered, drawing back his shoulders. He tried to keep his stride confident and his face composed. This was enemy territory; he needed to process what was going on. His head felt too light and the dizziness was still clinging on a little.

            The attendant at the security gate waved them through when the droid flashed a hologram of a Koorivar—presumably, General Chikset. Then they were in a wide, busy street, full of faces—both the earthy tones of humans and the blues and grays of Teltior, long heavy ponytails swaying against the backs of the males. Shops lined both sides of the street, which led to one large plaza straight ahead.

          “This road ends in the Daya of the Elrood Bazaar,” said the droid. “The hospital is southeast of this position.”

            Rex hadn’t managed to get his bearings before entering the city, and although the sun was high in a clear, greenish sky, he couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from. He stayed silent and let the droid lead him, although he thought his arm might already be bruising under its grip. They went right, through an intersecting street which curved gradually to the left. The buildings, an unusual combination of decorative brick and elegant metal, were too tall and close together for the sun to hit the ground. No weapons in sight on anyone, even as the street became more crowded and cluttered.

            If the droid really wanted to help him, Rex had to admit, this was probably one of the best options among Separatist worlds. Its secession from the Republic seemed to have come without major damage so far, but it had only been a few years. It seemed unlikely that the Separatists would bring him here rather than some military base. But he had no idea what they might be planning.

            The droid pulled Rex around a corner, and within a few more streets he caught sight of the familiar red and white medical symbol on the central segment of a wide, three-spired building.

            “When we enter, human, I will do the talking,” said the droid.

            “Fine with me, droid,” Rex grunted.

             As they left the narrow street and came toward the fenced edge of an elevated square, Rex fought the urge to get a better visual on every other sentient in the crowd. The more confidently he presented himself as a citizen with nothing to hide, the better. Still, his neck prickled at every person who met his eyes or passed out of his line of vision. One old woman smiled at him with such sudden brightness that Rex couldn’t help but stare back in alarm, thinking she had mistaken him for someone she knew and would stop them to talk. But the droid’s pace quickly carried them out of earshot in the whipping wind, and Rex didn’t look back.

            A long curved ramp arched over the street below and up to the hospital entrance, guarded by low transparisteel walls and the occasional sculpture of some four-hoofed animal Rex was unfamiliar with.  Inside the glass doors, the droid took Rex right up to the front desk. The brisk pace had his breath coming short, and his heartbeat tripped uncomfortably as the woman there looked up at him and gave a crooked frown at the droid. She was gangly, young, and had a low, fluffy nub of a ponytail. Her matching eyebrows were drawn in a serious look that Rex hoped was habitual.

            “Excuse me,” the droid said. “Master Novar has an appointment with Doctor Hulseech. It is urgent. He is not well.”

            “Just _one_ second,” she said as she pulled up a file on the desk’s screen. Any second now she would give some further indication that she was suspicious of him… she would call for backup….

            He glanced around to assess the room for exits. No back door immediately visible. There was the way they came in and adjacent windows but that would likely be the first they would block. If the droid really wasn’t his ally, there was no hope unless someone else took it out. In that case his best bet would be to break out the windows of an adjacent hallway—not a guaranteed possibility without a weapon or armor—or hide somewhere until an alternate exit was found. Civilians in the hospital would get caught in the fight if they went to the upper floors—

            “Right. She’s busy right now, but one of her droids will be down in a moment to lead you up. Have a seat.”

            Rex lurched slightly as the droid tugged him toward the bench. Once they reached it, the droid hesitated for a moment before sitting, pulling Rex down beside it. The large human man sitting on the other end of the bench gave the tactical droid a scandalized look and went back to watching the newscast.

            The other patients barely seemed to notice Rex. Instead, they cast furtive, bothered glances at his metal companion. Up on the wall’s screen, video played silently with subtitles, showing distant footage of a smoking city surrounded by trees.

_Republic gunships continue to swarm the skies over Calna Muun. At least five hundred civilians are currently listed as missing and not to be found on any official evacuation craft. Reporters in the field have been unable to approach the city, but they are now relaying the eyewitness reports of several evacuees._

            The video switched to a young man holding a tearful child snuggled against his chest, crowded in on all sides by fellow humans. He stroked the little one’s tangled hair as he spoke soundlessly to the reporter.

            _“I remember being a Republic citizen. It wasn’t so long ago. Most of my life, you know, we were part of the Republic. I never thought they would attack like this, even though we’re part of the Confederacy now. I guess I don’t know what they want from us. We’re just farmers.”_

            _“How long were you given to evacuate?”_

_“I never heard they—if I had heard anything, if I had heard there was going to be an attack, I wouldn’t have gone into the capitol this morning. We would have gone somewhere else to sell.”_

The screen flashed video clips of an agrarian city, streets filled with carts full of crated goods, and various tradesmen setting up shop.

_At approximately 11:25 local time, Republic gunships were spotted in the sky above Calna Muun. Ground troops cut off all exits within an hour. They were_

A spindly medical droid walked into Rex’s line of sight, breaking his focus on the screen. “The doctor is ready to see you now,” it said, in a low, soothing voice. It sounded nearly human after the tactical droid’s monotonous droning.

            “Very good,” came the grating answer from Rex’s right, and he got to his feet at the droid’s silent insistence. The man on the bench scooted slightly over and his posture noticeably relaxed.

             The movement made Rex feel feverish again, but his head cleared a little once they had moved down the hall and into a lift. The droid pushed the button for the eleventh floor, but the lift stopped on the third to let in a worried-looking Teltior. She gave a disapproving glance at the droid before leaning against the opposite corner, lost in thought. The lift stopped again on levels five, six, and eight. A human mother and her young child didn’t see the droid until they were inside the lift. The girl jumped and gasped audibly.

            “That’s a tactical droid!”

            “How do you know that?” hissed the mother, staring.

            “I am a tactical droid,” said the tactical droid. “I am escorting this unhealthy human.”

            “They’re super dangerous,” said the kid to her mother before turning a suspicious eye back on the droid. “I don’t know if this one is good.”

            “I am very dangerous in battle,” said the droid, “to my enemies. But I do not intend to engage you in battle. As you can see, I do not carry a weapon.”

            The mother picked up her daughter and took a small step away from the droid. She pressed the button for level 9.

            “Are you contagious?” asked the kid, and Rex realized she was speaking to him. He smiled weakly, noting the mother’s defensive posture and watchful eye. He wondered just how unhealthy he looked with his unshaven and bruised face, never mind the scruffy clothing.

            “No,” he said quietly. “I’m not contagious. Don’t worry.”

            She quirked her eyebrows and pulled a curl of hair over her upper lip. “Well _that’s_ a relief.”

            The mother carried her off in a hurry. Once again the lift was empty of civilians, and Rex realized numbly just what a bizarre situation he was in. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined depending on a tactical droid’s social skills to help him avoid capture in enemy territory. It was like a dream where no one but the dreamer seems to notice his missing clothes.

            At long last the lift reached the eleventh floor. The medical droid led them down another colorfully tiled hallway and into a small room with a single surgical table.

            “Doctor Hulseech will not disturb us,” said the medical droid in its mild voice as it shut the door. “TL-Eighty-Nine, I never expected you to bring me a patient.”

            The tactical droid—TL-89—finally let go of Rex’s arm, shoving him away from the door. Rex managed to stay steady on his feet as it took up position in front of the exit, its blocky arms at its sides.

            “Can you remove his ID chip?” it asked.

            “Why don’t you take this off and let me have a look at your arm,” said the med droid, reaching for Rex’s left side and pulling up on the poncho. “Don’t worry, I just want to assess the damage.”

            Reluctantly, Rex took it off. The med droid’s grip on his arm was so gentle it seemed to be barely touching him. It extended his arm carefully and scanned his shoulder.

            “I want this human restored to good condition,” said TL-89. “He must be presentable if my use of him is to be effective.”

            “Your _use_ of me?” Rex scowled. “What exactly are you going to use me for?”

            “I will need to do a more thorough scan,” said the med droid. “Please lie down on the table.”

            Glancing away from TL-89’s stubbornly mute gaze, Rex obeyed. The scanner arced up from the sides of the table, joining together over Rex’s chest. The med droid examined the data on the linked pad.

            “Who did you retrieve this clone for, TL-Eighty-Nine?”

            “For myself,” said the droid. “I will be responsible for his life… if you predict he will survive his injuries.”

            “What?” Rex scoffed. “What about the intermediary you mentioned? What about dropping me off on some deserted planet?”

            “Hmm,” said the med droid, nodding to itself. “I see. But I do not think you will make a good caretaker for this clone. You seem to have forgotten that humans require water and food to survive. He is severely dehydrated.”

            “I did not forget. He refused my offers of sustenance. I will be more forceful in the future.”

            “His shoulder and chest has a great deal of scar tissue, most likely from blaster wounds. It has been injured before, recently injured again in a similar fashion. I see signs of recent surgery.”

            “Yes,” Rex said, loudly and clearly. “I had reconstructive surgery on the nerves in my shoulder. Do you think it will heal?”

            “With physical therapy, and if you do not overtax yourself… there is a possibility, yes.”

            A possibility. That sounded worse than the first opinion he’d gotten.

            “If you intend to keep him, removing the ID chip is a wise decision,” said the med droid, moving to examine Rex’s wrist. The table’s scanner retracted and Rex sat up.  “I would recommend buying him better clothing as well, to reduce suspicion about his origins.”

            “Listen,” Rex growled, staring at his captor. “I never said I would cooperate with you. Whatever you’re planning! I’m not about to be some droid’s servant.”

            “You have no choice but to cooperate, if you are to survive.” Rex imagined an undertone of smugness in the droid’s voice. “I make your presence in Separatist space legitimate. You make my presence in human space legitimate. You have no credits, no status, and no means of transportation. Yet, as you have already seen, civilians will not dare dispute your allegiance when you are accompanied by me.”

            “I will anesthetize the area, but you may want to be unconscious for the surgery,” interrupted the med droid in the same soothing tone.

            Rex felt an overwhelming urge to kick the med droid away and dive for the door, but his body still felt so weak, he knew such a desperate attempt would never succeed. As infuriating as it was to admit it, the tactical droid was right. He couldn’t think of any better way to move freely among civilians and avoid detection, at least for now. And as risky as it was, a chance to fulfill his true mission was standing right in front of him, selecting a hypospray.

            “Wait! _Wait!_ ” Rex protested, snatching his arm out of the med droid’s grasp. “I….”

            Both droids’ eyes glowed silently at him, white and dull yellow.

            “If you really want to keep me out of the Republic’s hands,” Rex began slowly, “if… you really want me to cooperate with you, you’re going to have to do _more_ than just remove the ID chip. That’s not the only way the Republic can get to me.”

            TL-89 just stared, its squashed-looking head tilted in a way that Rex read as skeptical, but which could have meant anything. He took a deep breath.

            “There’s another chip. In my brain. It’s probably hard to detect… but it’s capable of overriding my will so that I _have_ to obey any order I’m given by… Republic officials. I don’t know how it’s activated, but I do know it’s been triggered before in other clones, and those clones have attacked allies and killed them. As long as it’s in my head, I’m still nothing more than their weapon.”

            The tactical droid didn’t move or speak for a few seconds.

            “Ha, ha, ha,” it finally said, and gestured to the med droid. “Scan his brain. We will see if this chip exists.”

            “Why would I _ask_ you to cut open my head if it didn’t?” Rex grumbled. He lay back down on the table feeling cold.

            “You have a very low regard for your own life. Your motives are likely irrational.”

            Rex sighed shakily as another scanner closed over his head. An unpleasant vibration started at the base of his skull and moved up through his teeth, nose, and eye sockets. He wasn’t sure if that was an effect of the scan or just a headache from the pain in his shoulder.

            “I do not see any chip,” said the med droid.

            “It’s there!” Rex barked. “Look again.”

            “I will do a more thorough scan. What am I looking for?”

            “It’s… large, completely organic.” Rex tried to remember what the Mrlssi and the commandos had said, back in Drann. “It requires an extremely invasive scan to even detect, but… in at least one of the soldiers, it was located here, in this area.” Rex reached up to touch the right side of his head, where the Mrlssi scientists had scanned Echo.

            “Nothing is coming up. I do not recommend an atomic scan in your weakened state. It is likely to be unpleasant at best. Brain surgery is also inadvisable.”

            “Perform the scan,” commanded TL-89. “He will present an unacceptable risk if he is telling the truth.”

            “This may result in some nausea,” said the med droid. “Please try to lie still and take deep, calming breaths. I am injecting you with an antiemetic.”

            Rex closed his eyes and inhaled slowly as the hypo discharged. In less than five seconds a feverish heat washed over his skull, seeping through the bone. His closed eyes ached and his stomach squeezed. He broke into a sweat; he could feel it beading on his upper lip and forehead, the back of his neck, and the palms of his hands. Inhale, exhale.

            The scan proceeded at an achingly slow pace. The vibrations of the machine were nauseating him almost as much as the tight pulsing inside his skull, but the heat eventually dissipated and he cracked opened his eyes to see the scanner retracting. Rather than tilting, the room quivered at the edges as he lifted his head. The med droid laid a hand on his chest and said “just a moment.”

            “Was it there?” Rex gasped, grimacing as he wiped the sweat from his face.

            “Yes. I have collected enough data to attempt its removal. But I must inform you, there is a high risk of complication.”

            Rex swallowed, focusing on the point in the corner where the ceiling met the walls. “Like what?”

            “The brain is a very delicate organ. And you are not well. Brain damage is a possibility, and considering the location of this device, its removal could cause behavioral changes, sensory problems, or a severe chemical imbalance of some kind. It is difficult to predict.”

            Rex shuddered and dried his shaky palms on his tunic. The thought of waking up as essentially a different person was terrifying. That this was also the reality he faced someday if the chip was _not_ removed was a cruel irony.

            “Alright,” he finally said, propping himself up on his good elbow. “Droid… you say you keep your word. Why don’t we make a deal?”

            “You are not in any position to bargain with me, human,” said TL-89, still at its post by the door.

            “No.” Rex contained the rush of hatred by taking another deep breath. “But if you’re really going to go through with this… would you rather I cooperate willingly, or be fighting you every step of the way? If you promise me this one small favor, then I give you my word… I won’t try to run. I just want the chip when the med droid is done with it. The one in my head.”

            “Why?” TL-89 elongated the word a bit.

            “I want to find out if there’s a way to disable it in other clones. Without surgery,” Rex said quietly.

            The droid just kept staring at him in that unreadable way, and Rex stared back, fighting his own sickening sense of humiliation. Begging for favors from a tactical droid. But if it saved even one life… it would be worth it.

            “Please.” As if asking nicely would count for anything. “It’s… the reason I left the army.”

            The droid raised a hand in a careless gesture. “I will permit you to keep it, human. We have an agreement. You will serve as my escort indefinitely. You will not try to escape.”

            “Yes.” Indefinitely. Rex reminded himself that a tactical droid was a tactical droid, and if it turned out he had to break his word later, so be it.

            “We will see if you honor your agreements. Proceed with the extractions.”

            “I hope you both know what you are doing,” said the med droid as it hooked Rex’s right arm into the IV.

            Rex wondered if General Skywalker ever felt like this when he came up with his crazy plans. Sometimes it was a matter of Jedi instinct, surely, but sometimes there was simply no sane option short of giving up. And Rex had come too far to give up now, even if it meant going against his instincts and making himself even more vulnerable in enemy space. As unlikely as his survival had been, he had to take every opportunity to keep moving forward. If nothing else, he would reach the end knowing he had tried.

            “I’m going to put you under now,” said the med droid. Rex closed his eyes.

…

            “Is he awake?”

            Rex’s heart pounded in his ears. Tactical droid. _Tactical droid_. He felt something hooked into his arm and reached for it—a metal hand blocked him, closing around his wrist.

            “Gen—Skywalker—no—” he gasped, lurching up to claw at the hand before remembering that General Skywalker wasn’t here, and never would be. His free hand was useless, half-numb. Rex’s eyes were so heavy, he thought for a moment he’d been blindfolded until a crack of light seeped through. No, not blindfolded. He’d been drugged.

            The hospital room. He remembered. The panic ebbed and left him weak. He nearly fell back onto the bed.

            “It is alright,” said the med droid. “You are safe.” It turned its head. “I told you your voice might induce this response.”

            “How long before he is returned to normal efficiency?” asked TL-89. Rex stared at its six eyes until they became only two. He blinked sluggishly, crawling further into consciousness.

            “There is very little I can predict with such limited information.” The med droid waved a small handheld scanner very slowly over the right side of Rex’s head. “It does appear that his brain activity has increased slightly in the affected area. I see no indication of internal bleeding… he does not appear to be in any physical danger.” The droid held up a thin panel in which a small fleshy mass was encased; a moment later it was in Rex’s right hand.

            Rex examined the chip, each heartbeat still pounding painfully into his skull. The thing didn’t look like a chip at all. It looked like a warped patch of skin. “ _This_ is the chip?” he half-whispered.

            “It is a fascinating piece of hardware. Kaminoan make, I assume?”

            “Yeah….” Rex turned his head left and right, squinting, fighting the overwhelming heaviness. It felt like gravity had increased, but that wasn’t it exactly. “Am I still sedated?”

            “The anesthesia has almost finished wearing off. You should feel normal soon.”

            “I don’t feel normal,” Rex mumbled heavily, rubbing the back of his fist against his forehead. Everything felt… off. It was hard to place it, exactly. Somewhat like his dehydration headache. Maybe that’s all it was, although it wasn’t quite like any headache he’d ever had before. It felt like someone was touching his head. He pocketed the chip and reached up to brush a hand over his hair only to realize he had been shaved.

            “Please describe your symptoms.”

            “I feel….” Rex couldn’t think of any good words. “It’s probably just a headache… maybe I can feel the tissues in my brain being repaired….”

            “That seems unlikely to me, although if you are feeling emotionally altered, I must remind you that I did warn you that could be an effect.”

            “Emotionally?” Rex murmured to himself. “Maybe…. Probably just … the drugs and starvation talking….” He laughed weakly under his breath and got up off the bed, before realizing his arm was still hooked into the IV.

            The droid carefully removed it and laid a tiny patch over the IV puncture.

            “Thanks,” Rex sighed. “Guess we’ll find out in a few days if any of this is permanent.”

            “Your brain seems to be adjusting quite well to the surgery,” said the droid, waving the scanner again. “It is already forming new pathways to make up for the loss of the chip. Additionally, I have destroyed the identification chip, so you needn't worry about that.”

            “You will adjust quickly, human,” said the droid, prodding his chest aggressively with a metal finger. “Or I may be forced to abandon you on an isolated planet after all.”

            “I’ll do my best, droid,” Rex growled back unsteadily.

            “If you like, I can keep you here under observation,” said the med droid. “For a few days… and guide you in physical therapy for your shoulder.”

            “Oh.” Rex straightened, rolling his injured shoulder. “It doesn’t hurt as much… must be the anesthesia.”

            “Your shoulder was severely inflamed. I brought down the swelling and gave you a muscle relaxant. It should be easier to do the necessary exercises now.”

             Rex extended and recoiled his arm several times. It burned, but it was manageable.

            “Very good,” said the droid. “I assume you were given instructions on the next stage of therapy as well?”

            “Increase reps ten per week until the third week, then go to fifty each exercise three times a day, then move on to resistance exercises. I’ve got it memorized up to full recovery.”

            “We will not stay,” said TL-89. “Our presence here should not be prolonged.” He pointed at the med droid. “You will erase all record of it.”

            “Ah. Well, then. I will give your human a small prescription to keep the swelling down. Excuse me.”

            Rex stepped aside to let the med droid leave the room.

            “I hope I will not regret ordering this procedure,” said TL-89, when the door closed.

            “I’ll be fine,” Rex said firmly, against the vague uneasiness that was seeping into his skin. “But my shoulder will need time to heal.”

            “Understood. I do not require your physical capabilities to be completely recovered. It is enough for you to appear to be a normal, respectable human.”

            “Well, if that’s what you want, you _might_ want to think about finding me a razor,” Rex said, rubbing his jaw with the edge of his fist. The awful scratchy texture worked as a distraction from the nagging feeling of disorientation.

            “I will consider your request.”

            “I could use a shower and a fresh change of clothes,” Rex added.

            “The ship is equipped with hygienic facilities.”

            “What exactly am I being respectable for? You know I’ll never pass as a part of the Separatist military. They would know a clone when they see one.”

            “The high level commanding officers would know,” the droid agreed. “But we do not need to fool them.”

            Rex folded his arms, thinking. The most likely use for a Republic clone would be as a spy or saboteur within the GAR. He could make that work to his advantage, if a way to shut down the chip on a broad scale were manufactured by then.

            “Who exactly _are_ we fooling?”

            “I will not give you any more information than you require at any given time. That is the most efficient and secure approach.”

            “Well… you have a point, there,” Rex admitted under his breath. “But I can’t go back to Republic space. Not as myself, anyway. And you wouldn’t be welcome there.”

            The tactical droid remained silent as Rex tried to work it all out. The droid had said nothing about Rex legitimizing its presence in _Republic_ space. So whatever it was planning was in Separatist space.

            Rex moved away from the droid and paced around the room, needing to keep moving. He looked at the chip again, resting in his palm.

            “You plan to lead a mass revolt of your kind,” said TL-89. Rex couldn’t tell if it was a statement or a question.

            “No. I was bred to serve the Republic,” Rex said quietly. “And I don’t intend to betray it. But I do want my brothers to have a choice about what orders they follow.”

            “You contradict yourself. There is no place for you in the Republic but as slaves.”

            “We’re _not_ slaves!” Rex protested. “Not to the Republic... or the Jedi. We fight for them because of what they are defending.”

            “You are delusional.”

            “It’s a waste of time trying to explain anything to you,” Rex said, sighing. “You’re a Separatist droid, so of course you think the Republic is corrupt.”

            The door opened and the med droid walked in with a flat palm-sized box of pills. “I hate to send you away so soon, but I don’t think TL-Eighty-Nine has ever been a very patient droid. And it will be easier for me to erase your presence here the sooner you are gone. Here you are.”

            It held out the pills to Rex, who took them and put them in his pocket, realizing again how completely he was putting his trust in a droid who worked for the enemy. But it was easier with medical droids—they were programmed to help people.

            “Thanks,” Rex sighed, and found he really meant it. He hesitated. “Listen… do you know of anyone I can contact who might engineer a virus that would disable this?” He gestured toward the droid with the chip. “Without causing any harm to the clones who have it?”

            “Hmm. That is quite the undertaking. It would probably require extensive study of both your immune system and the capabilities of the chip. Such research is not my specialty. Since the chip is organic, any such virus would likely have to be modified off an existing one which naturally targets that area of the brain, and it would be difficult to genetically reprogram it to avoid damaging the brain itself.”

            “But there has to be someone who can do it, right?” Rex insisted in a low voice. “Don’t you know anyone?”

            “Unfortunately, I do not have many contacts. And none who specialize in genetic manipulation. Perhaps TL-Eighty-Nine will take you to Raxus. I would not be surprised if he could find someone there.”

            Rex’s mouth twisted at the thought of asking, but he glanced at the tactical droid anyway.

            “Come, human. It is time for us to leave. We will discuss this in a more secure location.”

            The droid flapped its wedge fingers in a beckoning gesture, and Rex stood rooted to the spot with angry humiliation for a moment before turning one last look on the medical droid.

            “Thank you,” he said again, surprised at how reluctant he was to leave this one purely helpful being. “I’ll… take good care of my shoulder.”

            “That’s right.” The med droid patted him on the arm, and handed him his discarded poncho. “I hope to see you in full health if we ever meet again. Although… considering our separate functions, such a scenario is unlikely.”

            “Right….” Rex pulled the poncho on and turned to walk past the droid and out the door. Again the grip closed on his right arm. “Ugh….” The feeling came over him again, of complete disorientation, an undertone of terror, and gratitude, and devotion. Now was not the time to wrestle with all of this.

            The tactical droid shook him slightly. “Cease.”

            And just like that, the emotion left him, replaced by annoyance. He blinked and they were inside the empty lift.

            “I will procure a suitable meal for you,” the droid was saying. “You will also select whatever hygienic items and clothing you require.”

            Rex kept his left hand curled around the chip and the pill case in his pocket. It still trembled whenever he moved it. He thought of the look in Echo’s eyes the last time they’d spoken, the despair he’d seen at the thought of going back to the Kaminoan scientists. If Echo could face that alone, then Rex could kowtow to a droid for a little while.

            “And then what?” Rex finally asked.

            At that moment, the lift doors opened and some civilians walked in. The tactical droid ignored their startled glances and said simply, “We keep moving.” Rex could almost hear the silent _human_ the droid left hanging at the end.


	18. Chapter 18

            Voices woke him, interfering with foggy dreams. When Cody opened his eyes, the indistinct images faded immediately into the bottom of the upper bunk. Bodies moved in his periphery, and he recognized a particular cadence of laughter—that was Commander Sal, who he only ever saw on Coruscant. A look around and a moment to drag his mind further out of sleep reminded him of where he was.

            It felt like he’d been doing something last night that left him wired and exhausted, but they’d arrived in the late afternoon, early enough to settle in before dinner. Most everyone had returned to the barracks early. He checked his chrono, realizing as he did so that he had nowhere particular to be. Seven forty-seven.

            Cody bolted up and out of bed to retrieve a fresh service uniform. The voices turned on him.

            “Ah, good morning, Cody.”

            “Must’ve been a hard campaign; you slept in!”

            Cody glanced up at those who were speaking to him. Sal and Captain Dara were suiting up in their armor. He forced a smile through his sleepiness.

            “Yeah, two long battles in a row,” he said, keeping his voice light. “I better hit the showers.”

            “See you around,” someone said, and Cody didn’t look to see who it was. He was already out the door and headed down the hall.

            The showers were rather empty for this time of day. Just went to show how many were out on the front, Cody thought. The war was coming to a climax, and here he was, hiding in a quiet room offstage. It wasn’t right. The echoing spatter of water and footsteps on the shower floors sounded too distinctive—there were too few sounds to blend into the usual comforting background noise of life.

            He wondered who General Kenobi had chosen to lead in his absence. The hot water poured over his head and he closed his eyes, his body automatically going through the motions of washing his hair, his face and body, barely noticing the unevenness in his skin from the occasional scar. Tucker’s words repeated in his mind. _You just need to get some rest, Commander. Nothing’s wrong with you._

            Once dried, Cody dressed and shaved quickly, mentally lining up his tasks for the day. He needed to check in with his men, make sure everything was in order. Check weapons, check supplies. That should kill some time.

            Cody walked outside. The sun glinted brightly over the roof of the GAR headquarters, turning the flag into a ripple of bright scarlet and casting long shadows over the flat thoroughfare between the buildings. It must have rained sometime in the night; he could smell the damp fuel smell that rose off the darkened ground. So different from rain on Kamino, and different again on other worlds he’d visited. He lost himself in the numbing rhythmic march to the 212th barracks, barely looking up from his shadow in front of him except to check proximity when a tank rolled by.

            As he crossed toward the door, a blur of blue and white made him stop and turn his head. The paint job on the helmet wasn’t the same and the ARC trooper was wearing two pauldrons rather than one, but just for that split second, an irrational sense of possibility had risen in him. The blue wasn’t even the right shade… too light. The ARC trooper continued until he’d run past where Cody stood. Off to join his battalion on a mission, or some General’s plotting strategy. Cody shook himself and kept walking.

            After the brightness of outside, the barracks seemed dim for a few seconds. Cody had chosen 219 men from among those recommended by Tucker and the various captains and lieutenants he commanded. He’d tried to avoid picking any of the officers, but there were still a few sergeants and one lieutenant in the mix.

            “Sir!” said Sergeant Ro, the first to notice him in the hallway. “I think Lieutenant Stern is in the mess. Shall we gather the troops?”

            “How many of them are in the barracks?”

            “Not many. Most everyone is still fueling up.”

            “Is West busy?”

            “Probably,” Ro said with half a laugh. “But I don’t think he’s dealing with anything too important. Last I saw him he was badgering Zenk about his burns.”

            “Good. Have him meet me in the armory.”

            “Very good, sir.” Ro ran off to fetch the medic, and Cody turned down the opposite hallway, making eye contact with the few he met on the way. He tried to stay alert for any signs of the exhaustion Tucker and their superiors had noted, but most everyone looked as they normally did.

            Cody had already made it halfway through checking their stock of supplies and inspecting the spare arms when West showed up, wearing his white service uniform. He walked in just as Cody sat down on a crate with a DC-15A balanced on his lap so he could check that the tibanna gas cartridge was fully stocked with charges.

            “Commander,” West said abruptly, with his usual salute. “You wanted to see me. I apologize for being late.”

            “At ease,” Cody said. “You’re technically on leave with the rest of us.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Cody looked up. West was a gruff sort, his goatee bracketed by thin shaved lines all along his chin. Cody always thought the lines were suggestive of vibrations, especially when he jutted his chin out thoughtfully as he was doing now.

            “How are Zenk’s burns?” Cody asked.

            West rolled his eyes slightly, hands behind his back. “They’d be fine if he’d just take a day to not do anything with his hands, let the bacta do its work. But he hasn’t. I’m pretty sure they’re getting infected, and he’s still putting up a fuss.”

            “I’ll give him a direct order.” Cody hefted the heavy rifle to put it away. “Let me know if he gives you any more trouble. Anyone else?”

            “Well….” West folded his arms. “Plenty more wounded, but none of them are being much of a problem so far. We’ll see if they behave themselves and actually rest like they’re supposed to. Do you want a list, sir?”

            “I trust you to take care of it,” Cody said, pulling out another rifle to inspect. “Between reports from you and the temporary group leaders I’ve assigned, that should keep me informed of what I need to know.”

            “Yes sir,” said West. Cody heard something familiar in his tone. Something uneasy he didn’t like.

            “What is it, West?”

            “Ah, well, sir… you’re on leave too, right?”

            Cody sat back down and studied the questioning look West was giving him. “Technically, yes.” He removed the cartridge.

            “Are you planning on doing a _full_ inspection, sir?”

            “I’m considering it. Why?”    

            “The men….” West stopped, brow furrowed. “Being personally chosen and pulled from the front lines like this, especially at this stage of the war… it has some of them worried. Some of them don’t feel trusted to do their duty, and…. You have a right to inspect their work at any time, of course, Commander. But say they saw you inspecting their weapons so closely now. On the front, they’re always trusted to keep their gear in good condition.”

            Cody stared down at the fully loaded cartridge in his hand, and slipped it back up into the stock with a satisfying series of clicks.

            “Have you been seeing any negligence in the ranks?” West murmured.

            Cody shook his head. “So far, everything is perfectly in order.” He replaced the rifle and didn’t pull out another one. “I just want to make sure we’re all ready to join the rest of the battalion when the time comes.”

            “Yes, sir.” A pause. “It’s good to know that you and the General haven’t lost confidence in us.”

            _You and the General._ Cody looked over the remaining rifles and took a step back. The men still saw him as an authority, the other half of the unit that commanded them, and here he was, only looking for distraction. He suppressed a sigh.

            “General Kenobi is trying to limit casualties,” he said quietly. “He’s decided that we’ll all fight more effectively if we have a chance to recover between long periods at the front.”

            “I see.” West’s face relaxed a little. “Good call, then. I agree with him. We deserve a bit of a rest.”

            Cody tried to smile at that.

            “Especially you, Commander,” West added, and Cody felt himself tense.

            He forced a soft laugh and turned toward the door. “Well, I’d better head over to the mess and get a report from the others. Keep me posted.”

            “I will, sir.” West frowned, but he frowned about most things. Cody told himself not to look too much into it.

            Still, the tension creeping up into his shoulders resisted being shaken loose. He paced his breathing as he walked toward headquarters, squinting against the sun right in front of him. It washed the damp permacrete he walked on into a blinding golden-grey brightness.

            The distant rumble of vehicles and industrial pipelines vibrated through the empty spaces between the barracks. As Cody passed into the main building’s shadow, he looked up at the huge pillar surrounded by statues of clone troopers, the lines of loudly snapping red banners on his left, and the honey-colored stone slab on his right… the monument to the troopers who died in the first battle of Geonosis. Normally he felt an exhilarating sense of pride whenever he passed this way. Sometimes it was more subtle than others, but there nevertheless. Not today.

            A few members of the City Guard flanked the scanners inside the door and Cody nodded a greeting to them as they waved him through the security gate. Red armor was in the majority here, especially with so many battalions currently off-world.

            He left the high-ceilinged but narrow, grey entrance for the hallway to the various facilities, which included the mess, the gym, the shooting range, the repair stations, and so on.  The mess itself was all one noisy room, and as Cody entered, he stared down the rows of tables, picking out the men painted in his colors.

            Kenobi had said to have them in good condition and ready for battle by the time their leave was over, and Cody intended to do just that. He paused just inside the doorway and let their voices wash over him, remembering when last he’d been on Coruscant, triumphant, Rex greeting him with that subdued smile. He’d never imagined his next visit could feel so different.

            He pressed forward into the scattered laughter and quiet hubbub. Lieutenant Stern was talking to one of the members of his platoon, but stopped as soon as he spotted Cody. The tattooed lines reaching from his hairline toward his eyes made him look older. He stood as Cody approached.

             “Commander,” Stern said easily, but he left one hand resting on the table.

            “Lieutenant,” Cody replied. The other men there were mostly members of Stern’s platoon. Cody motioned toward the wall and stepped away. Stern followed.

            “Something wrong, sir?” Stern asked quietly.

             “Not as far as I know,” Cody replied, turning his back to the wall, hands clasped behind. “Is there?”

            Stern mimicked his posture, but stood sideways, facing away from the men at his table. “Nothing of note.”

            Cody stared through Stern’s guarded face, thinking of Rex, and how reluctant he always was to say what he was really thinking, ever since they’d first met. It was a common trait among his brothers.

            “Some of the men,” Stern finally admitted, “are wondering how long before we’re returned to General Kenobi. But of course we’re all most concerned with doing our duty to him, whatever that may be. And, I assume, right now our duty is to… recover.”

            “Stern,” Cody half-sighed in exasperation, tapping a fist against Stern’s shoulder. The motion felt both natural and faked. “I asked if something was wrong. And I’m asking brother to brother. Yeah, relax a bit. It’s your duty right now, after all.”

            “Yes, sir,” Stern said sheepishly. His voice lightened a bit even as his face remained doubtful. “It’s just… disconcerting. If I was chosen to leave the front at this critical time, then that means there was something I did to draw attention to myself. And I’m the only high ranking officer who was chosen.”

            “That’s….” _That’s not true_ , Cody nearly said, and heat rose in his face. He looked away, hoping it wasn’t visible. “Understandable. But the General stressed that I choose anyone who needed a rest. You’ve been working hard.” Cody held up his fingers and began ticking off points. “Your platoon suffered heavy losses on Clak’dor Seven. Before that, you took over leadership of Flash Company when Captain Gil was injured. I chose you because you’ve worked harder than any other officer for the past three missions. Now that Gil is back on his feet, he can take care of your platoon. It just made the most sense.”

            “Oh. Understood, sir.” Stern’s face gradually opened from its guardedness as Cody spoke. That kind of transformation was something Cody loved to tease out of people. It had been so halting with Rex, coming in sudden starts and stops. And still he hadn’t opened up completely, after all these years.

            “So,” Cody said firmly. “You can tell your men the same thing. They’re being given leave as compensation for all the sweat and blood they’ve put into these battles.”

            “Thank you, sir. I will.”

            Cody stepped away from the wall and back toward the table, where the other men sat with emptied trays and restless eyes.

            “Sharp, Push… how are your wounds healing?”

            Sharp grinned that rookie grin of his, although the chunk that had been scraped off the left side of his face was still raw and stretched looking even out from under the medical patch. His eyelid was misshapen so that it never seemed to close all the way when he blinked, or open all the way either. “Looking better every day, sir. Can’t wait for more surgery tomorrow.”

            “Oh yeah,” Push sighed, scratching the shaved patches on the back of his head. “Me too, Commander. New kidney seems to like me so far.”

            “Good. Any idea where your unit leaders are?” Cody would have just called them on the comm, but the longer he took to do things today, the less time he’d have with his thoughts, which was for the best.

            “I think a few of them went to the gym.” Push stood slowly, and the others followed suit. “We were going to head there next anyway.”

            “ _You’re_ not going to the gym!” Cody said sternly, cutting the air between them with his arm. “You’re going to rest! You… you just had surgery, trooper.”

            “I was just gonna do some weights,” Push laughed, but then faltered under Cody’s stare. “Uh, yes, sir. I’ll go back to the barracks.”

            “Give it another day, at _least_.” Cody forcibly lowered his voice. “I’ll check with West later this week and have him clear you when you’re ready.”

            “Got it,” Push sighed.

            Cody turned to leave, and the others trailed behind him, nearly a dozen. The rest must have already finished and moved on—there were only a handful of other men from the 212th in view, and they seemed to be just starting their meal. He’d catch them eventually.

            “I’ll see you guys later,” Push muttered to those nearest him, then split off toward the entrance. A couple of the men called back and lifted hands in goodbye. Cody gritted his teeth against the illogical constriction in his chest and turned back toward the gym.

            As they walked down the hall, someone spoke up close behind him. “Uh, Commander… when we get back to the front….”

            Cody turned just in time to note Sharp whispering Lan’s name in a warning tone.

            Lan pressed on calmly. “Do you think we’ll be working closely with General Skywalker and the Five-Hundred-First again?”

            Cody slowed his pace. Some men looked between him and Lan—others looked quickly away.

            “That’s up to the generals. Why do you ask?”

            “Oh, I was just curious, sir, about whether we might be purposely assigned to work separately from them.”

            “Lan… you’re not being very direct.” Cody smiled wryly—the trooper was notorious for his roundabout approach. “Something on your mind?”

            “Sorry, sir.” Lan dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I ask because….” He took a moment to think, and Cody waited patiently. “I’m afraid we might be… not punished, exactly, sir, but… i-is this suspension from duty because the generals are questioning our loyalty, sir? At least for some of us?”

            “General Kenobi gave me full control over who to send on leave,” Cody said firmly. “And I don’t doubt any of you.” He hadn’t realized the men lived in such fear of being distrusted. “Is there someone you have suspicions about?”

            “No, sir!” Lan said earnestly, staring at him.

            Cody watched Lan cover up his dismay with a neutral expression. “Got something more to say?”

            “Nothing important, sir.”

            “Mm-hmm. Right….” Cody sighed skeptically and folded his arms. “Look, none of us were sent here as a punishment. The General made that very clear to me. He’s just trying to act strategically, keep us in top form. Got it?”

            “Yes, sir!” Lan still looked anxious, but Cody decided it would be best not to single him out any further for now. He turned back to lead them to the gym, lengthening his strides.

            “By the way,” he said over his shoulder. “If any of you see Zenk, make sure he’s not doing anything with his hands. He’s supposed to be letting them heal.”

            “Yes, sir,” they all said, and a couple of them chuckled.

            “It’s not a laughing matter,” Cody said softly, although he knew they were likely laughing in sympathy for West. “While on leave we have one job, and that’s to make sure we and our gear are all in perfect condition by the time we leave Coruscant.”

            “Yes, sir,” Stern said. He was the only one who didn’t lapse into total silence. “We’ll be sure to pass along the message.”

…

            Cody stood straight and still outside the 212th’s barracks, breathing night air. The dot-sized lights of traffic moved near the edges of the sky, too slow and too regular to resemble shooting stars. There was a large group of his men approaching, but it was getting late. Only one more interview, then. It was incredible how slowly the day had crawled by; he’d checked his chrono at least seven times in the last hour.

            Scattered conversation reached him: banal debates on the merits of various blasters and least favorite foods. One trooper was limping noticeably.

            “Oliver,” Cody called. “Can I have a word?”

            “Sir!” Oliver perked up to attention. “Sure thing, Commander!”

            He nodded to the trooper he’d been walking silently beside before limping his way over to where Cody stood. Oliver’s spry smile didn’t falter.

            “I was wondering when it would be my turn, sir. Word gets around.”

            Cody started to walk away from the entrance. “Good. I guess that means you’ve already checked up on your group for me.”

            Oliver followed him readily, despite his right leg’s resistance. “Oh, yeah. Should I start with the good news or the bad news?”

             “Bad news.” Cody stopped; they were a sufficient distance from the other men now.

            “Okay,” Oliver said. “Well, Cratt and Puzzler have barely said a word since we left the battalion. It’s not looking good with them, sir. Puzzler didn’t even get out of bed until nearly thirteen hundred hours. I didn’t order him up, since… like he says, we’re here to rest. But I will if you think I should.”

            “Did West have anything to say about that?” Cody sighed.

            “He said it was fine for today.”

            “Then it is fine,” Cody decided. “What about Cratt?”

            Oliver shrugged. “He came in late to breakfast and said he was going to swim laps. I didn’t see him again until dinner, and he wouldn’t say much then either, just that he was walking around.”

            “Well… keep an eye on him. Make sure he’s not wearing himself out. We _are_ supposed to be resting.”

            “Yes, sir. But I can tell Puzzler we’re not under orders for _bed_ rest, right?”

            “Not as a general rule,” Cody said, watching a ship coming in to dock. “Although, you probably better not dance too much on that leg of yours.”

            “I’ll try to keep it under control, sir.” Oliver chuckled and did a subdued, quick little step, ignoring Cody’s grimace when his bad knee made it into more of a lurch.

            “Don’t push it, trooper. That’s why it didn’t finish healing in the first place.”

            “Yes, sir.” Oliver grinned and ducked his head, shifting weight onto his good leg. “Sorry, sir. I’ll set a better example for the men. But it is pretty unusual, being encouraged to lie around. No disrespect, sir, but I’d guess you’re feeling restless too.”

            Cody made a noncommittal noise, not sure what to say. “Would you rather be shoved in a bacta tank for a couple of days?”

            Oliver shrugged and relaxed into a more subdued smile. After a pause he said, “Good news is, Thall, Edge, and Ven are doing well. West says give ‘em a few more days and they’ll be back to one hundred percent.”

            “Good,” Cody said quietly.

            Oliver didn’t elaborate, and Cody tried to think of more specific questions to ask.

            “No disrespect, sir,” Oliver said again. “But I’ve been trying to figure out why the General sent you with us.”

            “General Kenobi thought it was best for me to be here,” Cody said, as neutrally as he could. “I go where I’m needed.”

            Oliver made a crooked, questioning face. “I… heard from some of the city guards that you were friends with the Five-oh-First’s captain.”

            Cody tried to ignore the searing in his chest. “I was,” he said calmly.

            “Is that why the general sent you with us, sir?” Oliver asked, after only a moment’s hesitation. “Commander Fox says the captain was reconditioned because of disloyalty.”

            A rush of heat spiked up Cody’s spine and into his neck. “I wouldn’t believe everything the city guards say, Oliver. Commander Fox likes to think he knows what the generals are thinking, but he has _no idea_ what he’s talking about.”

            “Right… right. Good point, Commander.” Oliver’s tone shifted immediately into a more formal timbre. “So… is there anything more I should report on?”

            “If there is, and you remember it later, you know where to find me. Just keep an eye on Cratt, and go easy on the leg.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Once dismissed, Oliver limped steadily back to the barracks entrance.

            “ _Fox_ ,” Cody breathed as he crossed over toward the command barracks. Fox never knew when to shut up. He was going to keep spreading guesses like they were facts, making Cody’s own men curious until Cody asked him what he knew about Rex. Cody could just see the smug smile Fox would wear when asked what he thought he knew. It made him want to punch something.

…

            Sleep was a long time coming. No matter how often he tried to pull back to formulaic, normal thoughts, his mind kept drifting toward Rex’s empty bunk above him.

            The night passed in a long haze of restless thought mixed with disjointed dreams. Cody had rejoined General Kenobi, and Rex was there, limping when he walked, but every time Cody tried to point it out, Rex ran ahead effortlessly. _Come on!_ The General gave him a warning look and spoke with Fox’s voice, words that made sense when Cody heard them, but were instantly forgotten when Kenobi drew his lightsaber and Cody shot him dead.

…

            Fourteen-hundred hours. Cody looked up from his chrono—Gage stared at him expectantly as they circled the inside of the compound. They were coming toward the front doors again now.

            “Time to track down the other group leaders, Commander?”

            “No,” Cody said. “You’re the last one. Looks like your men need something to keep them occupied.”

            “Permission to take them off-base, sir? Or we could have a game of sabacc in the barracks.”

            “Either one.” Cody shrugged. “But doesn’t Teyo hate playing cards?”

            Gage blinked rapidly in consternation. “Right. Yes, sir. I forgot. I’ll pay closer attention in the future, sir.”

            Cody laughed under his breath. This stint as group leader was the closest thing to a promotion Gage had ever experienced.

            “I....” Gage continued haltingly. “I admire your ability to stay mindful of the troops at a time like this, sir. I _will_ learn to do the same.”

            _At a time like this._ “At a time like this?” he asked, watching Gage. “What do you mean by that?”

            “Well, sir,” Gage said, taking a breath. “I only meant that… the men seem uneasy. I’ve heard a lot of conflicting opinions about why we’re here… about why General Kenobi had you bring us here, sir. I’m not sure I believe everything they’re saying about Captain Rex, but… most of the other men seem to agree that something happened to _someone_ in the Five-Oh-First. Someone that… you knew well, Commander.” Gage finished nervously. “I apologize if I’m out of line, sir. I would just like to clear up any misconceptions being spread in my own group.”

            Cody blew out a breath, exhaustion settling on him. Here it was again. “And what, exactly, are _they_ saying?”

            Gage made a jerky motion with his arm, his urge to gesture being deferred by a strictly attentive stance as they walked. “They’re saying, sir… that you… were sent here because Captain Rex was court martialed for some reason I haven’t been able to discern in detail. Most people seem to agree he failed an important mission, and… it is suspected that this may have been—at least partially—intentional on his part, sir.”

            “Intentional?” Cody heard his own voice go rough.

            “No one suspects _you_ of anything, sir,” Gage rushed, “but dealing with traitors… it’s got to be hard on morale. Everyone remembers what happened last time we had to—”

            Cody held up a hand and Gage cut himself off. They were crossing the headquarter’s main entrance, and the doors had just opened. Half a dozen members of the city guard emerged, escorting a scruffily-dressed twi’lek in binders. Fox led the way.

            “Fox,” Cody called. “I was wondering where you were. I haven’t seen you all morning.”

            Fox halted, turning his head slowly and deliberately—he probably thought it made him look formal and intimidating, Cody thought to himself.

            “Something to report?” Fox asked, as if Cody were one of his own troopers.

            “A question, actually. I’d like to clear up a few things.”

            “Oh.” Fox tilted his head just slightly. “Sorry. It’ll have to wait. I have duties to attend to.” He paused after gesturing toward the twi’lek and his dismissive tone turned earnest. “Unless, of course… it’s a desperate situation.”

            Cody raised his eyebrows to keep himself from glaring. “I can wait.”

            Fox continued his steady march toward the detention level, probably smirking under that helmet. Cody took a deep breath and turned away down another corridor.

            “I’ll continue to discourage rumors among the men, sir,” Gage said in a hushed tone.

            “Good,” Cody said tensely, trying in vain to force a relaxed posture. “I appreciate you bringing this to my attention. Tell your troops that any rumors concerning the Five-Oh-First are _not_ our concern. _All_ troops should leave sensitive information up to higher command to disclose.”

            “ _Yes_ , sir!” Gage said, lengthening his stride to keep up.

            “Unless you have anything more to report, you’re free to return to the barracks. Dismissed.”

            “Yes, sir,” Gage repeated, and immediately broke off to head the opposite direction. Cody continued at the same agitated pace, wondering how long it would take Fox to deal with his prisoner. A direct confrontation was what he really wanted, but Fox did have the convenient excuse of legitimate duties. And a nagging inner voice told him that he was overreacting and playing into Fox’s hands.

            There was at least one errand left for Cody to run. Forty minutes later, having walked off the worst of his bad mood, Cody walked into the GAR supply dispensary, holding his armor’s shoulder piece with its broken antenna. It had been damaged on Clak’dor VII during a dive for cover.

            It was all one enormous room, warehouse-like, mostly used to trade broken pieces of armor for new ones. Shelves were filled floor to ceiling with crates and crates of different armor pieces, bodysuits and standard issue repulsor packs and cans of paint in various battalion colors. But there were secured sections near the back which held special issue equipment, for use only with approval from higher up. Cody looked for Supervisor Telkiem, the ever-cheerful Devaronian who was usually stationed at the front desk, asking stories from any trooper who came in. But she was nowhere to be found. Instead a tall, bald human man in uniform emerged from between the shelves.

            “Can I help you?” he asked.

            “I have clearance from General Kenobi to get a replacement for this,” Cody said, holding up the shoulder plate.

            “CT number?” the man asked as he approached.

            “Twenty-two Twenty-four,” Cody said. “My name is Cody. And… you are, sir?”

            “The new Supervisor for this facility.” He took the offered plate and inspected the broken antenna with a distant frown. “You may call me Supervisor Allard.”

            He headed for the desk and Cody followed, feeling vaguely put off.

            “Excuse me, sir,” he said when Allard had seated himself at the computer. “But… what happened to Supervisor Telkiem?”

            “Nothing. She has moved on to another job, one she is more suited for.”

            “What do you mean?” Cody asked, confused by the comment.

            Allard acted as if he hadn’t spoken. “Twenty-two twenty-four,” he mused under his breath as he pulled up the file. “Let me see your wrist.” He held up an expectant hand without looking at Cody’s face.

            Cody hesitated just a moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been required to submit to an ID check. Baffled, he held out his hand and allowed Allard to scan the chip embedded there.

            “Very good. Come with me.”

            Allard led the way toward the back, and Cody kept in step behind him, with a small, respectful distance between.

            “Sir,” Cody finally said, when they were halfway there. “Has something happened? Security seems tighter than the last time I was on Coruscant.”

           “The Republic is simply taking a closer interest in the efficiency of the military,” Allard said—recited, almost. Cody wondered how many other men had asked similar questions. “Given the stage of war we are now in, I’m sure you’ll agree it’s about time.”

            Cody wondered what that had to do with Supervisor Telkiem. She had always been friendly and talkative, likable, but never lax in her duties. She had taken great pride in keeping the dispensary perfectly organized, and all the files precise. Perhaps someone had fooled her and managed to get their hands on army gear without authorization.

            But speculation was a waste of time—he could leave that kind of thing up to Fox and his men. It was just as likely that she had simply found another job. She had always had the option, he realized. Her job was not necessarily her life as his was for him.

            A small maintenance droid was waiting at the section entrance. Once the door was unlocked, Allard sent the droid up to fetch a small case. Inside, set into the padding, was a brand-new antenna.

            “There you are. I assume you know how to install it.”

            “Of course.” Cody didn’t touch it. “But… that’s not the model I had.”

            “Indeed,” Allard said dryly. “It seems your General wants the highest-quality equipment for his troops. He specifically ordered this for your use.”

            “Oh.” Cody lifted it from the case, feeling a churning mixture of alarm and satisfaction. “Well, then.”

            “Is there anything else you require?” Allard looked and sounded so bored that Cody wondered why he had taken this job at all.

            “No, sir. Thank you.”

            Several minutes later, surrounded by the mind-numbing noise of the repair stations, Cody turned the shoulder plate 360 degrees at eye level, satisfied with his work. The antenna had a wider signal range and could tune in more sensitively to more frequencies than his old one, and he told himself that it just made good sense for the General to want him in closer contact during battles. The General could have ordered it for him before he’d made the decision to send him away, before he had known that he might not be keeping Cody as his Commander in the future. But then… maybe not. Maybe, Cody dared to hope, it was a sign of confidence. A sign that, soon enough, everything would be back to normal again.

…

            Two more days passed, filled restlessly with gym time, a more leisurely inspection of the gear, long walks around the compound, and games of dejarik. At dinner, Cody forced himself to chat with Oliver and Ro. They didn’t seem to notice his low appetite, and left to hit the showers just as Fox and his men were coming in.

            “Ah, there he is,” Stern whispered, on Cody’s right.

            “Who? Commander Fox?” Cody made his voice sound indifferent.

            “What’s he coming over here for?” Zenk muttered, startled. His hands were bandaged—he’d finally completed the bacta treatments, and could only just hold a spoon.

            “You wanted to see me, Cody?” Fox said when he was close enough. Cody bristled at the overly familiar tone.

            “Maybe,” he said, standing up so Fox wouldn’t have the satisfaction of looking down at him. “I’d appreciate it,” he continued, with carefully measured calm, “if you would stop spreading rumors. Besides, it’s not very professional of you.”

            Fox put his hands on his hips. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”       

            “I think he means what you’ve been saying about Captain Rex, sir,” said one of the city guards behind him.

            Fox didn’t say anything to that, just glanced at the trooper.

            “That’s right,” Cody said quietly, not wanting to give Fox more of an audience. “I don’t know what you have against the Five-Oh-First, but a _real_ commander doesn’t put others down to make himself look good.”

           Fox laughed suddenly, a deep chuckle. “Ohh, I _see._ You think this is personal. You’ve got it all wrong, Cody. I’m just doing my job.”

            “How is this doing your job?”

            “Hmm.” Fox looked around—the nearest eavesdroppers quickly turned their eyes away. “You really haven’t heard, then… he didn’t share his incriminating information with you, try to get you to come along on his _investigation?_ ”

            “I’m not here to gossip.” Cody shook his head. “I’m sure you also have duties you need to get back to.”

            “We are on a pretty tight schedule,” the city guard trooper said in an eager tone of voice that made Cody think he must be young.

            A muffled huff came from Fox and he folded his arms, ignoring the trooper. “Guess I had you two figured wrong. I thought you were his friend.”

            Cody took a quick, involuntary breath, but stayed silent.

            “Well, sir,” the trooper said lightly, “I’m sure Commander Cody knows where to find you if he changes his mind.”

            “Right,” Fox said, but didn’t move.

            Cody wished Fox would take off his helmet once in a while. But he knew why he didn’t. It was easier to stare somebody down when they never saw your real face. It was easier to seem invulnerable.

            “I don’t need to know exactly what you think you heard,” Cody said. “I was out there on the front with him. You… weren’t. I doubt there’s anything you can tell me that I don’t already know.”

            “Hm. Well, then…what’s _your_ explanation for what happened to him? Why would Skywalker send his Captain away like that?”

            Fox asked it lightly, innocently. Cody felt as if his back had been frozen and then had hot water poured over it. For several seconds, his mind went completely, utterly blank of any structured thought. He couldn’t think of a single word to say.

            “Yeah. I thought so,” Fox said quietly, and turned and walked away.

            Cody stood still, unformed words crowding behind his clenched teeth. But anything he could have said would only fuel Fox’s derision. There were no words he could find to speak of the way Rex had fallen apart.

             He had never wanted so badly to hurt a fellow clone. Not even Slick, traitor though he had been.

            “Eh, don’t worry about it, Commander.”

            It took Cody a few seconds to realize Zenk had spoken. When he looked over, Stern was squinting at him, his tattoos shrinking into natural creases.

            “He’s just jealous, I bet,” Zenk added. “Stuck here away from the action.”

            “Doesn’t matter,” Cody managed. He sat back down, desperate to change the topic before his mind had a chance to settle.

…

            That night, in the barracks, the darkness and sounds of breathing pulled at him, dragged him back to that moment on the ship, the last moment. He could almost hear Rex’s voice in his ears, saying his name.

            Finally, he got to his feet and opened the crate.

            Rex’s helmet felt light in his hands, lighter than he expected for something that had such a presence. He sank back down onto the bed, staring, feeling an overpowering weight of shame on his shoulders. He bowed his head, closed his eyes to Rex’s insistent gaze, and stayed very, very still, trying not to think. But Rex’s weakened voice rose up from back of his mind. _I’m sorry… I didn’t think it would go this far._

            Rex had died believing he was a failure. Cody had seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice, more honestly than he had ever known Rex to express such fears. Anger turned Cody’s hands cold on the helmet. Under his stiff fingers, he felt the grit that had accumulated like another coat of paint in the grooves and niches of the design. The signature of countless battles Rex had survived. He opened his eyes, barely able to breathe. His ribcage and throat seemed incapable of expanding fully; no matter how much he straightened, it still hurt just to inhale.

            _I won’t let him call you a traitor_ , Cody thought, unable to speak. Nevermind his own sense of pride; as a Commander and as Rex’s friend there was no other course of action.  The decision burned its way down into his bones, a trembling starting in his gut. He would be lucky to sleep at all tonight, but—he promised himself—that would change tomorrow.

…

            Fox wasn’t in headquarters. Cody had spent all day wandering its halls, but it seemed Fox really was busy. As far as he could tell, the other Commander never showed up in the mess either.

            At about sixteen twenty, as Cody was lingering near the entrance to the holo lounge, catching snatches of the news, his comm beeped.

            “Commander, it’s West. I’ve cleared Push to do some weights at the gym. He’s headed there now, but you might want to have somebody watch him.”

            “Copy that,” Cody nearly sighed.

            “Keen too. If you’re there, that should be enough to keep them from overdoing it. Otherwise, I’d ask their group leaders to stick around instead.”

            “Alright. On my way to intercept.” The joke fell a little flat in his weary tone.

            “Everything alright, Commander?”

            Cody stopped himself from switching off his comm. “Yeah,” he said. “Everything’s fine.”

            “Let me know.”

            Cody cut the line, wondering. _Let me know_ what? 

            Push and Keen were in a group of about a dozen troopers when Cody spotted them.

            “Uh, West cleared me, sir,” Push said as soon as Cody was in earshot.

            “I know,” Cody said, trying to smile. “He just told me. I think I’m going to join—”

            Someone stepped on his heels as he stopped dead in the hallway. Fox and five of his men had just merged into the corridor from an adjoining hall.

            “Excuse me,” Cody muttered. He stepped away from the group, intending to fall in beside Fox, but Fox stopped abruptly as soon as Cody broke from his men.

            “Commander Cody.” Fox lifted his chin. “Can I… help you?”

            “Fox. I think we’d better clear this up once and for all,” Cody said, surprised at the calm assurance in his voice. He felt as he usually did before a battle—alert, aware, bracing for adrenaline. “I know you think you’ve got some kind of advantage, making up lies about other battalions. Where did you hear this information you keep hinting at? Can anyone confirm it?”

            “Oh… you mean about Rex?” Fox asked.

            “Yes.”

            “You really want to talk about that here?” Fox looked around, feigning concern.

            Cody set his shoulders. “If it’s the truth, then it doesn’t matter who hears it. If it’s not, then the more people who know not to believe it, the better.”

            “Right….” Fox shrugged. “If you insist. I’m just thinking… if it were me, I wouldn’t want everyone knowing I was friends with someone like him.”

            Cody kept his gaze steady. “Where did you hear this rumor that he was investigating something?”

            “I didn’t just hear about it. And it’s not a rumor. I saw it with my own eyes.”

            Cody just waited, skeptically.

            “He was trying to find dirt on key members of the senate,” Fox said, coming a bit closer. “I caught him at it in the library, right after he’d been suspended from active duty.” He dropped his voice to near a whisper. “And then he lands this top secret mission on Anaxes, the home of the Republic navy, and manages to cause an interplanetary incident there. Don’t tell me that was an _accident_. I heard he was nearly killed on that mission. Now, let me ask you something. Who on Anaxes would want to kill someone who was trying to _save_ the navy? Unless they knew he was a traitor.”

            “ _What?_ ” Cody breathed, venomous anger exploding in his stomach all over again at the word.

            “When I talked to him in the library, he kept dropping hints about some kind of conspiracy. Well, I don’t know if the Separatists got him as their spy, or what. Rex probably thought he could get away with anything just because he was assigned to Skywalker, and leading the famous _Five-Hundred-First_. And I guess he _did_ get a better end than a traitor like him deserves; probably his General pulled some—”

            Fox’s voice sucked away in a gasp as Cody grabbed his helmet, yanked it down and twisted to tear it off, driving the force of his spin into the side of Fox’s head with his elbow. Fox grunted and staggered back toward him, red-faced with bared teeth, fist swinging; Cody ducked and returned with an uppercut. Fox hit the ground mere moments before Cody was on him again, fists cracking into cheekbone. Blood rose shining from Fox’s nose and lip; voices were shouting, but he couldn’t hear them over the rushing in his head. The hallway around him was gone.

            “ _Don’t_ pick a fight with me, Fox,”he snarled. “You barely deserve to wear that armor—”

            A punch to his jaw jarred his teeth—he tasted blood from his cheek, but he grabbed Fox by the hair and hit him again as a warning.

            “You will stop this,” Cody growled, tightening the fist around Fox’s hair. “Don’t you have anything better to do than to slander a fellow officer?”

            “It’s not slander,” Fox choked out, gasping as he clawed at Cody’s hand, “if it’s _true!_ ”

            “ _Rex is no traitor!_ ” Cody spat. He yanked Fox’s head up a few centimeters and threw it back against the floor before getting to his feet. He took one step back, blood dark on his glove and the hem of his sleeve. Two steps. The adrenaline jittered through his skull, burning his eyes. “You feel invincible here, away from the front lines, but you wouldn’t last one minute out there. You don’t really know war, so you don’t know anything about the kind of man Rex was.”

            Fox lay there for a moment, breath sputtering through his wet lips before he rolled over and staggered to his feet, glaring. One eye was already swelling shut. The other city guards stepped forward almost tentatively, and Cody felt a hand on his shoulder.

            “Sir….”

            “I’m fine!” he snapped. Then, calmer: “Let’s go.”

            Cody turned to look at his men. Their shocked faces made the wild heat begin to drain away into dread. Some were even averting their eyes. They couldn’t possibly believe what Fox was saying. It was ridiculous.

            One of the other guards nudged Fox with his offered helmet. “Better not push it, sir. You uh, you don’t look so good,” he said in a clearly audible undertone. “And I think I hear one of the Admirals coming this way.”

            “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Cody,” Fox growled under his breath, jerking the helmet out of his soldier’s hand with a glare. “You’re just naïve. I see corruption every day, patrolling this city. I _know_ a guilty conscience when I see it.” He pulled the helmet down over his scowl before he walked away, a little faster than his usual swagger.

            Cody headed down the hall without another backward glance, his knuckles pulsing painfully, fists quivering.

            “I’m gonna wash this off,” he said, diverting toward the nearest refresher. “You go on ahead.”

            “Yes sir,” said Push. He looked worried.

            As Cody approached the sink, he was stopped short by his own reflection. His face was flushed dark, his eyes seemed to burn with hatred from deep under his brow, and a part of him felt satisfied at the sight, knowing that Fox had seen it. He looked down at his shaking hands, took an uneven breath and turned on the water, washing his gloves before scrubbing futilely at the edges of his sleeves, heat gradually seeping through and into his pulsing fingers.

            Fox was a fool, an arrogant fool who was just looking for something to lord over the other commanders with, something to distract himself from his failure as a soldier. There was no reason to believe he knew anything about Rex that Cody didn’t—how could he? But as Cody watched his own face and tried to breathe, the anger kept seeping like poison, down from his head into his stomach.

            There was so much Rex hadn’t told him until the last minute, so much he hadn’t been able to see. But this just couldn’t be true. He shut off the water and tried to force his face back into its usual smooth expression until he could recognize it again. That collected presence was the total of who he was now. Cody, the commander, Kenobi’s commander, an officer suited to the Jedi’s even temperament.

            But he couldn’t do it. Disgust continued to pull at the edges of his mouth and eyes, and if he could see it, the other men could. They might take it as confirmation that more was going on than they’d been told. At the very least, his annoyance would come out in other ways and they would take it wrong, close off. It would be better if he didn’t join them tonight.

            With a deep breath, he put in a call over the comm.

            “Stern, it’s Cody.”

            “Stern here, Commander.”

            Cody turned his eyes away from his own grimace. “I need you to keep an eye on Push and Keen. They’ve been cleared to use the gym, but West wants someone there to make sure they don’t overdo it. Send someone else if you’re busy.”

            “Yes, sir.”       

            Cody took one last look at his pinched eyes and turned away from the mirror. There had to be something he could do to forget about all this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  An [illustration by Grant](http://ltfad.tumblr.com/post/107560224196/im-grantaire-cody-alone)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: description of surgery and severe injuries. Anxiety.  
> The [picture referred to in this chapter](http://media.tumblr.com/7041800f8290f926aea0016aca3c86e3/tumblr_inline_nfzsnlELgF1r4ffzy.png) was drawn by [Jasjuliet](http://jasjuliet.tumblr.com).  
> This chapter also refers to headcanons established in our side fic [One Of A Million: We Have Art In Order Not To Die Of Truth](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2259198/chapters/4960089)

            Kix closed his eyes at 14:33 to the hushed bunk chatter of other clones. He opened them moments later when Jacky shook him by the arm.

            “What?” he muttered, and realized his eyes weren’t as heavy as when he’d laid down just moments before. He looked at his chrono; it was 20:30. Six hours had passed. The room was nearly empty.

            “Sorry, sir… you insisted.” The other medic shrugged with an exhausted smile. “I can take a longer shift if you need the rest.”

            “I’m fine.” Kix rolled out of bed and onto his feet, stretching slightly. He did feel better, though still tired, and disoriented from the deep and dreamless sleep. “It’s your turn to lie down. Anything I should know?”

            “Dash’ll fill you in. Still no medical frigate, but there were only a few left in critical when I finished up. We uh… lost Spines and Atta though.”

            “I figured,” Kix sighed and started tugging his surgery scrubs on. “I was gonna make the call before I went to sleep… but I thought maybe there was a chance they’d pull through….”

            “It was worth a shot,” Jacky agreed. “We did our best.”

            “I know.” Kix gave Jacky a smile he hoped was encouraging before pushing him away by the shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll call if I need you.”

            As Kix hurried down the length of the ship to the medical bay, he wondered how close they were to joining the siege on Sluis Van. The battalion had sustained a lot of damage on the week's battle on Siskeen, high numbers of wounded due to the intermittent fire from droids ambushing them in narrow city streets. General Skywalker had been far ahead trying to take out the command center and the men had little cover. Over twenty-four hours later, Kix and the other medics were still cleaning up. He was almost relieved Spines and Atta were gone—they’d suffered long enough, but they’d seemed desperate to live, and it was his job to give backup to anyone trying to kick death in the teeth.

            When Kix walked in, most of the beds were still full, the men who sat on the floor moving in to fill the space as others left. Dash was giving a trooper stitches on his thigh while a med droid helped prep another for a bacta soak.

            “I’m here,” Kix announced. “Report?”

            Dash looked up from his work. “Ah—over there in the corner.” He jerked his head, seeming frazzled. His backswept hair was getting a bit loose.

            “When’s your shift over?” Kix asked, picking up the datapad. “Didn’t you come in with Jacky?”

            “I’m fine, sir. Just finishing up. Oh, it’s not that bad, soldier,” Dash scoffed gently when his charge hissed. “It didn’t even get close to piercing your femoral artery.”

            “Thanks,” the trooper grumbled as Dash finished coating the stitches with ointment and wound a thin bandage around them.

            “Now remember.” Dash tilted his head in a comically extreme I’m-watching-you look. “ _Don’t_ get any of those wet for at least twenty four hours. Come in again first thing tomorrow so we can check on it and change the dressing. That’s an order.”

            “Uhh,” the patient half-wheezed as Dash firmly hoisted him onto his feet and passed him into the arms of a waiting squad mate. “Yes, sir.”

            The top of the list was full of the highest priority patients, but that grouping had shrunk significantly since Kix had last seen it. There was a chance he’d get through all of them this shift, Kix thought with relief. 

            “That was Yahn?” Kix asked, looking around the room. “So… next is CT-Thirty-Three-Thirty-Five. Hatch?”

            The blaster-burned trooper being prepped for the bacta soak grunted. “Droid’s got me covered. That guy’s been waiting for a while.” He pointed shakily with a hand missing a finger, at one of the men sitting on the floor, his right leg bound roughly in bandages, the right side of his iced face dark and swollen with bruises from jaw to hairline.

            The man in question raised his head wearily and Kix recognized him. “Sergeant Raz.”

            “Ah!” Hatch exclaimed, teeth gritted as the droid peeled off the patch that had covered one of his wounds. “Sorry, Sarge, didn’t recognize you.”

            Raz shrugged. “Go on with whoever’s next. I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes fell to his leg.

            Kix checked his place on the list. Three down from Hatch – fracture in femur and tibia, already given first aid for concussion. Of the two before him, one had very similar injuries and the other one was also in need of deep wound cleaning and stitches.

            “We’ll get to you soon, Sergeant,” Kix promised. “Just a couple more.”

            Raz gave a halfhearted thumbs-up and Kix moved on to the other bed. The patient’s eyes were closed, his breathing shallow but carefully even in pace. The file said he’d been given painkillers and rehydrated through the IV in his arm over the last hour. The bed was set at a good angle to elevate the wound as much as was practical. Kix set the datapad down, looking at the bandages around the ARF trooper’s stomach.

            “Okay, Wings… your turn,” Kix sighed softly. He rolled up his sleeves and put on a fresh pair of surgical gloves. “Looks like your walker got hit.”

            A creaky exhale and an acceleration of breathing was his only answer.

            “Ah, it’s okay,” Kix reassured him as he peeled back the blood soaked bandages and applied a local anesthetic. “You don’t have to talk. Just keep breathing.”

            Underneath, the extent of the wound was hard to distinguish by visual alone; as a clot was broken with the movement of the bandage, a few drops of blood oozed slowly to fill the cuts left by the shrapnel. Kix could see one of the pieces still lodged in there, though. According to the log, it was left by Jacky in favor of closing the wound to prevent extensive blood loss. He hadn’t been able to work fast enough and there had been other patients who needed more immediate care.

            “I’ll take care of the next one,” Dash said behind him.

            “No,” Kix said lightly, as he made his selection from the tray of surgical tools. “ _You_ are going to tell Shadow to come take his shift.”

            “He’s….” Dash trailed off. “Yes, sir.”

            Kix glanced over his shoulder at Dash’s retreating back and made a mental note to keep an eye on Shadow as well. He’d barely had time to check up with anyone on his list of at-risk men. They’d been dropped right into the battle on Siskeen without much of a break after Clak’dor VII, and now he could only hope that the naval battles would give the infantrymen a respite.

            Quick and steady, amid Wings’ tight breaths, Kix felt his way through the bloody tissues—“easy, just keep breathing”—and extracted the last bits of metal. He let the wound bleed for just a moment before measuring out some antiseptic solution.

            “Okay. Now, this might sting a bit,” Kix warned gently. As he let it trickle into the wound, he could hear Wings grinding his teeth. “You’re gonna be just fine. All I have to do now is stitch you up.”

            “Gahh,” Wings finally gasped as if he was trying to laugh. He looked scared though. “How long will that take?”

            “I’ll have to do a couple of layers. It’s a deep wound… but you’re lucky, you know. It was a close call. That shrapnel could have hit something important.”

            “Feels like it did,” Wings said.

            “Not many AT-RT pilots make it out of an explosion like that alive,” Kix murmured. “Trust me. I’ve counted.”

            Wings fell silent. Kix took a deep breath, and a moment to sterilize his gloves and clear the last bit of blood from the wound before beginning.

            “Okay,” Wings said in a strained voice. “I did think I was gonna die….”

            Kix kept his voice soothing as he set to stitching. “Yet here you are.”

            Wings took a shaky breath and Kix kept his eyes trained solidly on his work, feeling the eerie resistance of the flesh against the needle.

            “I thought I was ready for it, you know….”  Wings whispered.

            “If you’re fighting with all you’ve got, living without regrets, you’re as ready as anyone can be,” Kix said numbly. “But you’re—”

            The lights flickered once and changed hue slightly; the ship’s comm system activated.

            _“Attention crew, all hands to battle stations, all pilots assemble on the primary flight deck immediately.”_

            “Great,” Kix sighed. “Looks like it might get a little bumpy in a few minutes.”

            “Sorry I’m late!” a voice said breathlessly behind him. “What can I do?”

            Kix didn’t look up. He was almost done with the first layer of stitches. “Just take a look at the report and get to the next person!”

            As other commands sounded throughout the ship and all around him, Kix carefully fused the first layer of stitches and moved on to applying the second. The ship rumbled and the floor quivered beneath his boots. He heard Shadow enlisting another man’s help in getting the patient securely onto a bed. It was difficult not to tear the fragile tissues when the floor jerked even minutely.

            Wings was perfectly still the whole time, a model patient, but Kix wondered if it was more than just compliance keeping him silent. The only noise he made were tiny hitches in his breathing when the ship shook.

            “Alright,” Kix said with finality after applying a bacta patch and layer of bandages. “Good job. It’s done. Try sitting up. You’ll have to change the dressing every ten to twelve hours.” He removed his gloves and slid a hand beneath Wings’ neck to help push him up into a sit.

            As Wings jerked upright, he gave a grunt of pain that turned abruptly into an awful noise somewhere between a sneeze and a sob. “I just want to sleep.”

            “You can sleep soon,” Kix assured him in an undertone, but a part of his mind was already reviewing patient evacuation protocol in case they had to abandon ship. Wounded men had been left behind before. Even able men had. “General Skywalker and the other pilots will finish this battle in no time. How’s it coming, Shadow?”

            “Just fitting the splint now, sir.” The med droid had returned and was assisting.

            “Come on… on your feet,” Kix commanded Wings, bracing him with an arm behind his back. Wings straightened stiffly and Kix walked him out into the hall, letting the trooper lean on him. The company quarters nearest to the medical bay had been cleared after the battle to hold the casualties overflow, and was now being used as a recovery room for those who had been treated and weren’t ready to return to duty. Kix let Wings down onto one of the lower bunks.

            “Thanks,” Wings breathed, and stared right through Kix. Kix frowned and laid a hand on his cheek, then on his hand. Both were clammy, and he was showing other signs of shock. His pulse was weak. This wasn't right--he'd been treated for this already.

            “Alright, I want you to lie down and stay there. I’m going to get you a blanket.”

            Kix saw troopers succumbing to shock after every battle, but these days, the symptoms were a constant reminder of Tup and when he had first joined the 501st. They’d picked him up off that mining station, one of the only survivors. He was showing many of the signs—low blood pressure, clammy skin, irregular pulse... and Kix always remembered how much Tup's hands had been shaking. Kix searched for a hidden injury but found only superficial wounds, and when Kix asked him how he felt, he had said “normal, sir.”

            As Kix retrieved a blanket from a supply drawer, the ship floor pitched wildly and he caught himself against the wall. Wings’ eyes fixed on him as he spread the blanket.

            “What’s going on?” Wings asked.

            “We’re breaking through enemy lines to help with the siege on Sluis Van,” Kix said quietly, propping the trooper’s feet up on a broken chest plate they’d taken off one of the casualties. “Now just try to stay as comfortable as possible. Are you feeling nauseous?”

            “A little,” Wings said faintly.

            “Bridges.” Kix pointed at a clone who seemed relatively unscathed aside from his bandaged arm. “Can you watch him?”

            The other clone nodded.

            “You’ve got Bridges watching out for you,” Kix said to Wings. “Time to sleep.”

            “I can’t sleep,” Wings whispered, eyes wide. Definitely dilated.

            “Your blood pressure’s already too low. I’d rather not give you another sedative. How long have you been awake? Since the battle?”

            “Since the battle,” he said, and Kix couldn’t tell if he was merely echoing him or answering the question.

            He sighed. “Look, I’ll be back.” The other trooper came to sit closer. “If anything else changes, comm the medical bay.”

            “I will, sir,” Bridges said.

            With a last glance at Wings, Kix exited the quarters and headed back for the medbay, but his mind drifted back to Tup. Wings would recover from his shock symptoms in time. Tup never did. He would seem okay but the cold sweat and irregular pulse would always come back with no provocation beyond their usual duties as soldiers. It had been the first time Kix was faced with such a stark example of psychologically-induced illness. Before, he had thought the Fett template precluded such a trait from occurring, but he had been naive. Tup only graduated because he had been able to hide it. Kix was certain of that; if the Kaminoans had discovered it, Tup would never have made it off that planet. For all the good that had done him in the end....

            But Kix was beginning to realize that knowing Tup had been as important as his formal medical training. He still wasn't sure of the exact nature of the defect, but he now recognized it was far more pervasive than he would have imagined, a critical error in their development. Not everyone showed signs, not yet, but he was noticing them more all the time.

            The door to the medbay opened, and it was a relief to look on the scene with fresh eyes. Things were almost peaceful now compared to the hectic and emotionally draining triage and surgery of the early morning.

            Like many of the others, Sergeant Raz had been dropped off and most likely not moved from his spot on the floor for hours. Shadow was helping him settle onto the examination table when Kix walked over.

            “Okay, what’ve we got here, let’s take a closer look,” Kix muttered half to himself, grabbing the x-ray machine. Raz’s leg was already bound in a splint, but as the scanner focused in, Kix raised his eyebrows and grimaced. “That’s… more than a fracture, Sergeant. Who put you down in the report?”

            A deep rumble shook the ship and Kix shifted his feet to try and stand more firmly on the tilting deck.

            “I don’t remember.” Raz shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. There were others who needed more immediate attention.”

            “I’ll be the judge of that,” Kix said, although the fact that Raz was still here meant that he was right. He pressed down very gently on Raz’s thigh. “Can you feel that?”

            “Feel what?” Raz asked listlessly, staring at the ceiling.

            “Now?” Kix felt along where the compound fracture was.

            Raz just narrowed his eyes as the room quivered.

            Alarmed, Kix slapped his other knee lightly. “How about that?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Well, that’s good news. It’s not your spine… although you have some nerve damage in your leg.”

            “No kidding,” Raz sighed.

            “No kidding,” Kix echoed. “The bone’s pierced through your shin, and the blaster shot through your thigh hit more than just the bone. This should have been treated hours ago. I’m guessing you fell?”

            “Flushing out the droids who were sniping us from the upper floors.”

            “I think there’s still a chance to save it,” Kix said gravely. He undid the splint and frowned at the discoloration of the Sergeant’s skin.

            “Doesn’t sound like you’re too confident.”

            “Not when my patient has a negative attitude.” Kix gave Raz a look. “It’s going to need surgery. Ready to be put under?”

            “Better than being awake,” Raz laughed humorlessly. “See you when I see you. Unless we get blown up.”

            Shadow had silently moved on to helping the next patient on the list. Kix grabbed the IV the med droid offered and laid a hand on Raz’s head. The Sergeant closed his eyes and took a deep, steady breath as Kix hooked him up and dialed up the general anesthesia.

            For the next thirty minutes, it was just Kix’s hands, the droid’s instruments, and the sergeant’s flesh and bone. In the background, the ship’s shaking edged its way up his joints and spine as he tried to keep his hands steady. He could hear the quiet voices of Shadow and the other troopers he was patching up. Once or twice before, Kix had wondered why there weren’t more medics in the GAR. Considering he’d been cross-trained for general infantry duty as well, as all medics were, it wasn’t as if training a medic diminished the fighting force of a battalion. But there was surely a good reason for it, as there was for anything their leaders chose. Some said it was a matter of appropriate temperament. Kix gritted his teeth and breathed in the antiseptic smell of the surgical mask.

            The damage to Raz’s nerves and ligaments was pretty bad. He could only hope a thorough bacta soak and diligent post-op care would do the trick. At the very least get mobility back into the leg, if not much sensation. But the sergeant’s morale would take a severe hit if recovery was incomplete. And that could be as dangerous as any infection.

…

            “Battle must be over,” said Avenger. From where he sat on the examination table, he glanced up at the ceiling which had finally stopped shaking. “Wish I was a pilot.”

            Kix frowned and grabbed Avenger’s head all covered in tattooed tally marks, pulling it down and forward. “Keep your shoulders back. Tell me when it hurts.”

            “Ghh,” Avenger groaned, waving his hands in surrender. “That’s it, that’s far enough!”

            “Your lower back?” Kix didn’t let go.

            “Yeah?!”

            “You’ve pulled a muscle. You need to stay hydrated and take it _easy!_ Don’t lift anything heavy and try to lay flat and stretch it out whenever you can. Don’t sleep on your stomach. I’m going to give you a brace to wear. Ice your back for twenty minutes every hour. Got it?”

            “ _When_ am I gonna find time to do _that?_ ”

            “Well, lucky for you, you’re _not_ a pilot,” Kix reminded him, pulling down a tiny bit further. “So you’ve got a prime opportunity to rest for as long as we’re in space.”

            Avenger made a scoffing noise, voice tight from pain. “Does it really have to be every hour? I usually use time like this to keep up on my training!”

            Kix sighed. “You can take a break for once.”

            “ _No_ , I _can’t!_ ” he said slowly, as if explaining something to a small child. He made as if to grab at Kix’s hands and clenched his fists in mid-air instead. “I’m too far behind as it is!”

            “Look….” Kix let up on the pressure and Avenger raised his head with a stubborn frown. “Did you ever stop to think that… maybe you’re taking this goal of yours a little too seriously?”

            “No,” Avenger said with disgust, averting his eyes as he leaned back on his hands. “I think most people don’t take it seriously _enough_.” He glanced back at Kix with a pointed scowl.

            “You got something to say?” Kix leaned back with a raised eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

            “Nope. Nothing to say.” Avenger hopped off the examination table. “Am I excused?”

            “Hey.” Kix grabbed his arm and dropped his voice when Avenger jumped visibly.  “Injuring yourself further isn’t gonna help you kill more clankers. We all want to see the seppies pay. You know that.”

            “You know, I get this lecture every other week from somebody,” Avenger growled and pulled back against Kix’s grip with restless eyes. “People telling me I should just _forget it_. Forget them. Is that all we can do? Just… forget everyone and act like they never existed? Well maybe _you_ should just forget it. I’m gonna forget this conversation like it never even happened!”

            “It’s not going to bring them back,” Kix said quietly. “No matter how many clankers you kill, it’s not going to bring them back. You _have_ to take care of yourself.”

            Avenger breathed out through bared teeth and glared at Kix. “Let go.”

            “You think injuring yourself honors their memory?” Kix said, voice still calm. The other trooper’s face twisted. 

            “Let _go_ of me!” Avenger jerked away violently, back toward the wall, and when Kix staggered forward with him, Avenger’s free fist collided with Kix’s right temple.

            Bright lights and blackness streaked Kix’s vision for a moment and he felt Avenger’s arm slip out of his grip. Distantly, as he staggered to stay standing and held his head, hissing… he wondered why he hadn’t just let go the first time Avenger asked.

            He looked up dizzily to see Avenger staring at him with face slack, panting, fists lifted defensively in front of him. For a moment, despite their differences, the look in his eyes strongly reminded Kix of the way Tup had stared through him the first time they’d met.

            “I-I… I didn’t… you wouldn’t….” Avenger took another step backward and hit the wall, looking frayed. “You wouldn’t let go,” he said, panting.

            “Avenger….” Kix held out one hand, wincing, the other on his head. “Take it easy. No one’s attacking you!”

            “I’m sorry,” Avenger said unevenly, letting his fists drop, his shoulders sag. “I just… I… I’m… I have no excuse, sir.”

            “I'm alright.” Kix sighed, rubbing his head. “But I'm gonna need you to let me take another quick scan and measure your pulse.” He glanced at Avenger's hands but didn't reach for one. They didn't seem to be shaking, which was a good sign, at least.

            “What—Kix—I’m fine, sir. I’m fine! I just got… angry, sir. I don’t know.” His voice went rough as he backed away another step. “I just don’t like… being cornered. I-I guess I was just annoyed, sir, because… everybody seems to have a problem with… me… lately. But I’m just trying to do my part to end the war quickly!”

            Kix frowned to himself and picked up the medical scanner on the table, turning it on and toward Avenger. He could hear the trooper’s stress already in his breath and voice, but the scan only further confirmed it; spiked adrenaline levels, _still_ climbing a little even as Kix watched the display. He looked up into Avenger’s flushed face.

            “Come with me,” Kix said quietly, motioning Avenger toward the door.

            Together they walked toward the supply room down the hall. Avenger was silent apart from occasional deep breaths, until they reached the supply room.

            “Uh… what are we doing here?” Avenger asked haltingly, nearly whispering. “You’re not… going to report me?”

            “I don't know. Do I need to report you?” Kix glanced at Avenger as he opened the door. “You said everybody seems to have a problem with you lately. What do you mean by that?”

            “Oh! Nothing,” Avenger said quickly, and closed the door behind them. “I mean….” He grimaced, his eyes flicking to the spot where he’d hit Kix’s head. “They all just think something’s wrong with me because I won’t give up on my goal. That’s all.”

            “So they’re worried about you?” Kix asked.

            “If that’s how you want to put it,” he muttered, head bowed. He sighed. “I understand if you need to tell my Sergeant about this, sir. But it won’t happen again, I swear it.”

            Kix sighed and knew nothing good would come of calling attention to Avenger’s symptoms—not until he had a better idea of how to work with it. But he was just as stumped as he had been when Tup had first arrived. Troopers feeling panicked, fighting back when they weren’t in any immediate danger… what else could he do but help them hide their flaws and hope their luck would last a bit longer?

             “As long as you take care of yourself, I don’t see any reason to report this.” Kix removed a back brace from a crate and glanced at Avenger. “Besides… whether I agree with your goal or not, following my orders will help you be able to keep at it longer. So no lifting, alright? If you’re gonna train, stretch beforehand and make it the light guns. No hard impact exercises. And….” He took a deep breath as he offered the brace to Avenger. “Do me a favor and don’t mouth off or pull a stunt like that around your commanding officers. Rex wouldn’t have stood for it and I doubt Commander Appo will either.”

            Avenger’s face twitched as Kix helped him tighten the brace around his middle. “Yes, sir. Sorry. I just….”

            Kix felt heat spreading in his stomach again, and he made himself wait, hoping that Avenger was about to talk. He cast around for an appropriate prompt.

             “You just… feel….” At the third word, Kix felt like something was sitting right at the back of his throat, a weight that kept him from thinking, much less saying, whatever he was sure they both felt.

            Avenger shook his head sharply, eyes averted. “Fine, sir. I’ll take care of my back. Am I free to go?”

            Kix nodded.

            “Tell me if it gets worse,” he murmured at the back of Avenger’s head as he walked out of the room. The trooper’s steps slowed for just a moment before he hurried away.

            When Kix went back to the medical bay, he realized the only ones left were a few crewmen who’d gotten rattled around during the fight. The droid could handle them; Shadow had already left and Kix was over his shift by almost two hours. It was time to gulp down a ration cube or two with some water and take a break before the fleet engaged again, just in case. He felt a cold tingle beneath his skin that was all too common lately.

             On the way to quarters, he stopped to check on Wings. The trooper was sleeping soundly on his back; Bridges gave Kix a tired half-smile as he approached the bunks.

            “Any problems?”

            “No, sir, we just talked a while. He finally fell asleep about fifteen minutes ago.”

            “Good job,” Kix said, and tried to inject some warmth into his voice. “You can leave him if you need to, so long as someone’s around to hear when he wakes up.”

            “Understood.”

            A familiar blue armor pattern caught his eye; Sergeant Levi was about to pass him going the opposite way. For a moment, Kix considered telling him about Avenger. Levi was a good Sergeant, chosen personally by Rex. He seemed to care about his men, for whatever that was worth.

            Kix stood, still and conflicted, as Levi's back receded. After a few seconds he took a deep breath and turned away from the Sergeant. The only help for Avenger would come through a better understanding of what was undermining the Grand Army, one trooper’s mind at a time. Until then, discretion would have to be enough.

            As he walked toward the lift, the heat he had been feeling dissipated into a chill. A soldier's life was fraught with uncertainties, and that made anything steady and reliable all the more precious. Lately, it felt like every one of those things was being challenged. Not only had they lost Rex, but it was starting to feel like they had lost Skywalker as well. Ever since Tarkin had stepped between them with his decrees, the entire mood of the battalion had shifted. Morale was low, and even the battalion’s membership was under consideration. He and Jesse might not be bunking together for much longer. For just a moment, Kix felt a strong sensation of helplessness, a loss of stability that made him dizzy. His head throbbed a little.

            The lift was empty. He put his hands into his pockets to warm and steady them, and felt the communicator Rex had left him. He had said Kix would know what it was for when the time came. It didn’t make sense that Rex’s death was the sign—there had to be something else. Something obvious. But Rex’s comm was always silent.

            Kix exhaled an unsteady breath. If he did get a call someday, it wouldn’t be from Rex. But maybe whoever it was would have some answers. Kix wasn’t sure he wanted to hear them.

            Torrent Company’s quarters were mostly empty when Kix walked in, and those that were there were sleeping or trying to sleep. He sat down on his bunk with his pack between his knees and rested for a few moments in the peaceful quiet. When he opened his eyes, they strayed to a dark stain on his cuff; it was just one of many. He tore the scrubs off and tossed them haphazardly at the foot of his bunk, then pressed a hand against his eyes.

            The 501st had been one of the best battalions for years, and suddenly in the last couple months, it was falling to pieces. External forces were undermining their confidence, yes, but.... 

            He reached over blindly to his pack and withdrew a datapad wedged between vacuum-sealed packages of bandages and a collection of flimsi. The pad immediately brought up a page of the reg manual. Kix shifted screens to a file named _training notes._ He’d added a few of his own notes to the beginning since recovering this pad from Tup’s crate just in case anyone ever decided to inspect him, but so far Tup’s writing remained a complete secret.

            He tabbed quickly through the pages, trying to find his place. It had been a while since Kix had last attempted to mine Tup’s words for answers, but Avenger’s symptoms were more than enough to prompt another try. Snippets of text passed, beginning before Tup’s graduation and moving forward through the years. The last entry he’d read was Tup anticipating their landing on Umbara. He stopped for a moment to check the next page.

            _Umbara is finally over. I haven’t heard the final casualty report yet. General Krell turned out to be a traitor. There are too many things I don’t want to remember, but at least I’m still alive._

            Kix skimmed Tup’s dry, stilted report of the mission, looking for the kinds of hints he’d been trying in weeks prior to piece together about Tup’s condition. There weren’t many. Sometimes Kix found it oddly soothing to read the trooper’s mundane reports, but their time on Umbara was a memory he preferred to revisit as little as possible. He skipped forward.

            Abruptly he stopped holding down the forward key and shifted back, puzzled by the presence of Tup’s name at the top of one of the pages.

            _Hey, Tup!_

            _Sorry it took so long. That mission was longer than I expected._

            _Sounds like you’ve still got it pretty rough. I’ll let you in on a little secret. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you._

            _How do I say this…? Well, let me put it this way. I know you’re not a coward, because you’re still fighting. Your problem isn’t being too scared to do anything. You do what you have to, just like any soldier, and that’s what counts. Actually, you’re one of the bravest people I know, because you put your life on the line for your brothers every day, even though you know there’s a chance you might fail. That’s the most important kind of courage any soldier can have._

_You already proved you can do anything, even when it hurts. Trust me, you’re not wrong for feeling this way. I’ve lost a lot of brothers. All of my batchers are dead. I had to leave my best friend behind on a mission not too long ago. There was nothing I could do to save him. And that is why I can never stand by when my brothers are being treated like… well, you know how it was. You were there! I’m telling you, everything you told me makes perfect sense. I don’t think you’re defective. You just let yourself see more of what’s really going on._

_We may not be able to change everything we want to. Our lives are what they are, and we’re good at what we do. You have the skill. The Republic needs us. But that doesn’t mean it’s the way things should be. That’s exactly why we have to look out for each other. We don’t always have a good chance to make sure the lives of our brothers are valued, but that doesn’t mean we should stop valuing them, or valuing our own. Our will to live, and our willingness to die for each other is the biggest advantage we have over the enemy._

_Don’t beat yourself up about it when you feel afraid, or sick about all the wrong things that have happened. There’s plenty to feel sick about. I know a lot of us hate acknowledging just how much it hurts. But it does. I’m pretty sure that’s one hundred percent normal._

            _I know saying this might not make it any easier. Going day by day without being able to get away from the reality of the war is tough. If you had a choice, it might be easier if you could choose not to feel this way. But I think you’re stronger because of who you are. And I promise, I will never be ashamed to call you my brother._

            _Keep talking to me. I like getting mail!_

            _Your friend, Fives._

            Kix stared at that last line; the under-the-skin chill deepened into the bones of his fingers even as his neck and eyes prickled. He skimmed the letter again and shut off the datapad, heart racing, stunned. Of course, Fives and Tup had been friends… it shouldn’t be a surprise to find Fives’ words hidden here. Kix put it back into the pack, threw on his service uniform, and hurried with shaky steps to find Jesse.

            As soon as he was out of the lift, heading toward the dorsal flight deck, he saw Jesse approaching. But Appo was walking right behind him.

             “Kix!” Jesse jogged toward him in full armor and took off his helmet. “I haven’t seen you for over twenty-four hours! I thought your shift was over?”

            Kix said nothing, barely daring to look at Jesse’s face, suddenly overwhelmed. Of course, that didn’t do him any good. The memories surfaced anyway.

            “Hey. What happened to you? You hit your head?” Jesse fell in close to Kix’s side and put an arm around his shoulders to lead him back toward the legion’s quarters. “Must have been while the ship was rattling around.”

            Kix just shook his head and motioned toward the lift. When they reached it, Appo stepped in with them.

             “Is there a problem in the ranks, Kix?” Appo asked, as soon as the door had closed. “Something I should know?”

            “Sir?” Kix said, as calmly as he could.

            Appo’s face was as unreadable as his helmet, but his eyes went to Kix’s temple. “Spree was just in the medical bay. He told me Avenger was being insubordinate. Does this situation call for disciplinary action?”

            “Oh. No, sir,” Kix said immediately. “Spree misunderstood. This was just an accident.”

            Jesse was silent next to him, and Kix kept his eyes on Appo.

            “Spree didn’t seem to think so. He said Avenger attacked you because he felt cornered.”

            Kix laughed nervously. “Spree wasn’t even there, Commander. He didn’t see what was happening. It… it was a reflex. Avenger’s arm flung out to catch his balance and he hit me by accident.”

            “Is that right?” Appo frowned. “Hmm. Spree said Avenger sounded upset, and was resisting treatment.”

            “Everyone’s a little stubborn about treatment once in a while, sir.” Kix said lightly and shrugged.

            “Heh, yeah,” Jesse agreed.

            “That may be. But I hope you plan to inform me when there are problems with the men, especially disobedience. It’s my duty to be aware of weak points in the ranks.”

            Kix paused. Appo’s even tone hadn’t changed, but the words felt sharp.

            “Of course, sir,” Kix finally said. “But surely with something small like this, it isn’t strictly necessary to… distract you from your other duties, sir?”

            “Until further notice, anything which should be reported to any other officer in the battalion should also be passed on to me. I’ll be sure to check with Sergeant Levi about this.”

            “If you think it’s necessary,” Kix shrugged, trying to contain his alarm. “Avenger’s a good soldier, sir. He’s just overzealous sometimes.”

             “That’s no excuse. Enough of our troops are injured by the enemy… we don’t need them injuring themselves, or each other.” The lift stopped and Appo motioned him to follow him down the hall. Jesse trailed just behind Kix, a reassuring presence.

            As Kix stepped out, he wished that he felt more trust toward the Commander, not this lingering anger. It wasn’t Appo’s fault that Rex was gone. It wasn’t General Skywalker’s. What else could Appo do but step up to the position when called? Kix couldn’t waste time on feeling this way when the unity of the battalion was already shaken up so much.

            “I’m assuming Rex didn’t often ask you to update him on the status of the troops?” Appo asked after a moment.

            Kix swallowed, slowing his nervous stride to match Appo’s deliberate pace. That question wasn’t necessarily a criticism of Rex. “Rex _was_ concerned with it. He was… but he trusted me to tell him anything he might need to know. I assumed, sir, since I told you of my… intention to do more frequent checks among the men… that no special report was needed.”

            “Unless something comes up which I should know about,” said Appo, eyes forward. “Spree also mentioned that you seemed concerned about Avenger’s attitude. You didn’t mention his obsession with this goal of his.”

            “Commander,” Kix said quietly. “With all due respect… I only became aware it could be a problem today.”

            “All the same… if his overzealousness is causing his insubordination, it concerns me that Sergeant Levi _also_ isn’t putting a stop to the disobedience himself or bringing it to my attention. You may not have noticed the effects of Avenger's attitude until today, but his own Sergeant will be much more well acquainted with him.”

            “He… he knows Avenger’s intentions are good,” Kix said, hoping to discourage any immediate contact between Levi and Appo before he could talk to the Sergeant himself. “I think Levi can be trusted to handle discipline in his own squad, sir. He was given that trust when Rex suggested him to the general as a sergeant.”

            The commander stared at him for a moment, silently, and Kix blinked back, heart pounding, trying to keep his face as calm and open-looking as possible.

            “Understood,” Appo said at last. “Continue observing the men, and keep me informed. But Kix—” he stopped, and Kix jarred to a halt to face him. “If you do observe any slacking or disobedience… any further problems in the ranks, you will bring it to my attention immediately. Avenger is just an example of how a lack of discipline isn’t good for _anyone_. The old model of leadership might have worked for Rex, but at this point in the war… high command can’t afford to allow that kind of lenience, and neither can we.” Appo’s face contracted slightly—Kix couldn’t tell if he looked more worried or displeased. “The battalions should be capable of working at the same level of efficiency regardless of who is leading them. That counts for commanders, generals and anyone else. The men _should_ be aware of that, and their responsibility to step up when duty calls, no matter what. The battalion is not unstable. In fact, the structure of it is more solid than it ever has been. It would be better for them to place their trust in the system, not in any individual. I know you understand that.”

            “Sir.” Kix clenched his fingers behind his back to keep them still. “Yes, sir….”

            Appo bowed his head and walked away.

            The voices and bodies of other troopers washed past Kix in both directions as he stood rooted to the spot, trying to swallow all the commander had said. Not only did it match what they had all been told as cadets… it made rational sense. His own breakdown the night of Rex’s death confirmed that much. The current quivering anger in his clenched teeth was even further proof.

            It was all futile and misguided, and treasonous too… lying to his commander. Appo had ordered him to continue watching the men, to point out the weak links, saying it was for their own good. But Kix knew that if high command, if Appo and anyone upwards of him knew that men like Avenger were losing their grip, those men would be pulled from the ranks… and who knew what would happen to them then.

            “Are you alright?” Jesse asked quietly.

            Kix couldn’t bring himself to reply. He felt so full of dark, trembling heat that he was surprised that Jesse didn’t cringe away from the short glance they shared. Instead, Jesse put a hand gently on Kix’s back and didn’t speak until they were in quarters, seated side by side on Kix's bunk.

            “Quiet in here,” Jesse said, when they’d settled. He kept one hand on Kix’s shoulder.

            Kix took a deep breath, trying to pull away from all the tumult in his mind. If only he had a patient in front of him, everything would be clear. That was the only time it ever was.

            “Lots of casualties?” Jesse guessed.

            “Yeah,” Kix managed, glad of the excuse as he gathered himself.

            “You… wanna punch something?”

            A jagged laugh escaped him and he punched the stiff padding he was sitting on. “I’m fine….”

            “Do you want to be alone, then?” Jesse asked.

“No.” He tried to focus on the moment of pure exhilaration he’d felt at seeing Fives’ name. “I have to tell you something.”

            “Kix,” another voice called, and Kix looked up reluctantly. Singer leaned around the end of the bunk with his usual easy smile. “I think you patched up nearly half my platoon yesterday. Sorry about the extra work.”

            “It’s fine,” Kix said dismissively, but Singer didn’t move. When he glanced back up, the Lieutenant’s smile had only deepened.

            “You’re a good man, Kix. I’m glad you’re still with us.” Singer nodded lightly and walked away.

            Kix sat still, not sure where to place that comment in the argument raging inside him. Jesse took his hand off Kix's shoulder and shifted toward him.

            “So….” Jesse said quietly, motioning subtly toward Kix’s head. “ _Did_ somebody take a swing at you?”

            “Don’t worry about it.” Kix tried to smile. “Nobody’s picking fights with me, Jesse.”

            “Alright,” Jesse said simply, and Kix was grateful that nothing more needed to be said. “Well, where’ve you been? Don’t tell me you’ve been running around treating people this whole time,” he gestured toward the pack sitting by the bed. “I checked the medical bay when I was looking for you, and the droids said all the emergencies were taken care of.

            “I was, until not too long ago,” Kix admitted. “But then I was… reading.”

            “Oh….” Jesse looked embarrassed.

            “No, nothing of yours.” Kix waved a hand. He glanced around again—no one else seemed to be listening, and Singer had left the room. He pulled out the datapad and lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “I was… reading Tup’s… well.”

            “Wait… Tup? That’s his?” Jesse pointed at the pad in Kix’s hands, and Kix was glad he kept his voice similarly hushed. “When did you—”

            “I’ve been holding on to it since they—since he and Fives died,” Kix murmured guiltily. “I thought… maybe if I read it, I would understand more about… I-I thought maybe Tup figured out a better way to deal with his... our... defect. Maybe… I could find a way to prevent it from getting worse.”

            Jesse breathed a barely audible sigh, looking worried.  “You really think it’s gonna get worse?”

            “Maybe….” Kix swallowed. “I’ve been thinking… just theories, but… maybe there’s something that goes wrong with some of our minds because of the accelerated aging. Maybe a deterioration of our minds… that goes more rapidly than our physical aging, and it just… gets out of control after a while. I don’t know… I need more time. I wish I knew how to test for something like that.”

            Jesse stared at him worriedly for a moment. “But… Tup was killed by that parasite, not… this… whatever it is.”

            “I know, but maybe it was connected somehow.” Kix shook his head. “I just have to consider all the options.”

            Jesse motioned hesitantly toward the datapad, his voice soft. “So? Did you find anything in there?”

            “Did you know Fives was writing to Tup?” Kix smiled at Jesse’s shocked face.

            “No!”

            “Yeah! I guess he knew about it… and Tup must have written about this to him even though he never really talked about it much, not even in here.”

            “Well, what did Fives say in the letters?” Jesse asked eagerly. “Can I see?”

            “I only read one of ‘em.” Kix whispered. “Here.” He passed it over.

            He watched Jesse’s face as he turned on the datapad, and a rush of warmth weakened him with fear. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to face the fact that they wouldn’t always be fighting side by side. That day on Umbara, he had been sure that one way or another, whether he shot Jesse or was executed for failing to, in the next few hours he and Jesse would never see each other again. Somehow they had survived Umbara… but Hardcase hadn’t, and even Rex’s luck hadn’t held out forever.

            “Wow,” Jesse said quietly after a few minutes. “Is there more? There is! Unbelievable…!  I never thought we’d hear anything from him again.”

            “Yeah….”

            Kix thought of Jesse’s poetry and Hardcase’s art. Now there was Tup’s journal and Fives’ letters… but what would he leave behind if he died? Medical logs. Just his records of others. Jesse would have to remember him through the possessions of others hidden in his medpack. And there was Rex’s comm he had promised to hold onto.

            He watched Jesse’s expression change slightly as he read, the tiny smile on his face growing, then fading to bitter-sweetness. A desperate resolve to carry on rose in Kix. He had to survive as long as possible. If his deficiency eventually got him killed, he could at least fight his hardest to end the war before then… make sure to see his brothers safely to the other side.

            _“Attention: all troops, report to your stations. The_ Tenacity _will land on Sluis Van in approximately one hour.”_

            “Guess I’ll have to read the rest later,” Jesse sighed reluctantly. “I can’t believe you had this the whole time!”

            “Sorry.” Kix grimaced. “I thought about telling you, but….”

            “Ah, it’s alright.” Jesse smacked Kix’s knee softly.  “You did tell me, just now.”

            “Well… I had to, when I figured out Fives was… writing to him like that. I mean….”

            Jesse put the pad down, reached into the medpack and furtively pulled the hidden packet of flimsi to his chest. He half-unfolded the pages of poetry and slid out the battered photograph that was pressed between.

            A soft laugh pulled Jesse’s worried face into a grin. “I forgot about that. I’m the only one actually looking at the camera. Here, look!” He held the photo out. “I wonder how he found that old booth. That was our first leave on Coruscant, right?”

            “Yeah,” Kix sighed.

            Hardcase had an arm around each of their necks, eyes screwed shut in a huge grin as he gave a thumbs up. Jesse was smiling broadly at the camera, while Kix’s younger self pulled Hardcase’s arm away from his face, laughing through gritted teeth. He’d seen it two dozen times at least.

            “Yeah, always trust Hardcase for a laugh,” Jesse said wistfully as he slipped the whole package back into its hiding place. “I wonder what he’d say if he was still around.”

            “I dunno.” Kix swallowed and realized he really didn’t know. “Something nobody’s expecting.”

            “Heh. Yeah.”

            “Have you written anything lately?” Kix tried to change the subject.

             “Eh, nothing good. I wrote three pages of stuff and then erased all of it. Twice. Anyway, I better go get ready.”

            “Hey, Jesse,” Kix said, standing with him. “When we get back to Coruscant… let’s do something fun, okay?”

            Jesse mimicked Hardcase’s grin and thumbs-up from the photo. Kix laughed abruptly, more from gut-wrenching surprise than anything.

            “Take it easy, Kix,” Jesse said, with a sadder, more Jesse-ish smile. “I’ll see you on the surface.” He put on his helmet, gripped Kix’s shoulder, and turned to go.

            Kix sat back down on the bed, heaved a huge sigh and picked up the pad where Jesse had left it. It was still open to one of Fives’ letters.

            _You’re not the only one. We are trained to know how to survive, but it’s always been my brothers who make life worth it. Master Shaak Ti told me when I was a cadet that the individual and the group are the same. To solve your own problems, you have to be looking out for your brothers, too. I didn’t always know what she meant by that, but I think I figured it out._

            _If we didn’t care about each other, it wouldn’t be as hard when we lose our friends. But if we didn’t care about our friends, we wouldn’t have any will to fight. If we care about all of our brothers, we’ll stick to the mission even in the face of death, and we’ll keep fighting no matter what, because they’re counting on us. The trick is to realize that every single trooper out there is fighting just as hard as you are to stay alive. And having a friend helps me to remember that. It could be seen as a weakness, sure. But it’s also what keeps me moving forward every day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  by Jasjuliet  
> And [some concept sketches of Avenger.](http://ltfad.tumblr.com/post/113892458786/raes-attempt-at-drawing-avenger)  
> 


	20. Chapter 20

            Rex sat in the co-pilot’s chair, huddled in the poncho as they came out of hyperspace. The droid kept the ship cold everywhere but Rex’s quarters, but after days of being escorted back and forth only once a day from the showers and laundry, he was all too glad to sit shivering in the cockpit when the droid gave him permission. His new black shirt was too thin to keep him very warm by itself, but at least he had an outfit and boots that fit well, as well as a few toiletries to take off the unkempt edge.

            So far the droid seemed uninterested in harming him, and even its droning voice was better company sometimes than the blank walls of Rex’s quarters. The anxiety that followed him back aboard when they’d left Elrood had been dampened by what he could only assume was a deep exhaustion due to his brain still recovering from the surgery. He was familiar with the energy crash after the pain and adrenaline of a battle wore off. This one was just lasting longer than he expected.

            “Our next destination?” he asked, when a blinding star and crescents of planets appeared on the view screen.

            “Yes. I calculate we will arrive on the planet’s surface in forty-three minutes.”

            Rex stared at the two nearest planets, wondering which one the droid meant. It had been at least three days since they left Elrood. It was hard to keep track when the droid was the only one with a chronometer.

            “You will act as my escort while I offload my cargo.”

            “Right,” Rex said. “And then _I_ have a few errands to run of my own.”

            “Yes, you may purchase more articles of clothing if you wish. They will be less expensive here.”

            “Are weapons allowed in this city?”

            “Yes. I will be carrying mine. Do not attempt to steal it.”

            “Hmm.” Rex leaned back against the seat. His back tensed; for one irrational moment, he almost felt the planets were alive and reaching for him as he approached. “You know I’m going to need my own weapon one of these days.”

            “When I have trained you to be loyal to me, human, then I will allow you to carry a weapon.”

            “Train me to be loyal,” Rex muttered, wondering what his brothers would say if they could hear this. “You can’t train a clone to be loyal to a tactical droid.”

            “Human beings are programmed by reinforcing desired behaviors with rewards, and discouraging other behaviors with punishments. It is a survival mechanism. You cannot help but succumb to it eventually. It is why you are loyal to the Republic. You are loyal under threat of death, and under promise of some reward.”

            “You don’t know anything about me or my brothers. It’s more than that. We’re not a bunch of cowards. We don’t follow orders because we’re afraid.”

            “That is why I mentioned the promise of reward.”

            “What reward?” Rex sighed, already tired of trying yet again to talk sense with the droid, but unable to ignore any offer at conversation. “What reward do you think we’re given? We just do it because it’s the right thing to do! We’re not mercenaries.”

            “You are programmed to feel pleasure at following orders, perhaps.”

            “Maybe. It’s called a conscience, and it’s something every human is supposed to be born with.”

            He stared at the bright edge of the planet as it grew closer and closer. In some moments, between blinking, he thought he could see dark flecks in the whiteness—space stations? Asteroids? There were lives down there, innumerable strangers like static invading his brain when he tried to think of it. He didn’t want to step down into that unknown crowd. He wanted to go home.

            Like blood rushing to his head, a wash of sensation flushed through his body, taking him back through his memory to see the sky above Coruscant, feel the presence of his brothers around him, in a gunship, in a hallway, the memory so strong that the cockpit seemed to disappear. He could almost hear their voices, for a moment, the thin familiar beat of orders over the comm. The images faded, but the feelings lingered, as if his entire life as a member of the army was trying to fit in a single moment.

            The foreign lives down below filled him instead and surrounded him stiflingly. For a moment, he felt like a member of an endangered species. The universe was full of alien beings he didn’t want to know. He wanted to know them less than he ever had before, and now they were pressing in around him, and he hadn’t even set foot on the surface of the planet. It didn’t matter how many humans or non—they were all the same, all different from him, and yet not different enough for him to ignore. Only others existed… he felt like an empty tunnel that millions were passing through, not a person at all; a motionless observer rather than a soldier for the first time in his life. The galaxy was too enormous and complex to change, wasn’t it? He was meant to be unseen from now on. The total invisibility was disorienting, the unnerving truth of being microscopic in the grand scheme of things, and yet caught in the web of all of it. But he had always been only one soldier, he told himself, and he could still be. All that had changed was that he worked alone, now.

             “Human!”

            Pain shot through his left eye socket and Rex grunted, slapping his hand to where he’d been struck. He blinked, dazed, and saw a metal bolt clattering to the floor. “Ow. _Droid!_ What was that for?!”

            TL-89’s head was turned fully toward him. “You have been unresponsive for the past fifteen minutes.”

            “No I haven’t!” Rex grunted in frustration, rubbing his eyebrow where a bump was already forming. “You know, you could _say_ something before you go trying to give me a black eye.”

            “I have been attempting to draw your attention for at least two minutes. Once I determined you were no longer listening to my instructions, I began to question you on your state of consciousness. You did not respond to any of my verbal commands or questions.”

            “I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about! I didn’t hear _any_ … thing,” Rex’s head jerked as he did a double-take toward the view screen. The planet was much closer now than it had any right to be, close enough that he could see the glimmer of lights on its dark side. They were passing a space station on the left, and he could see the glowing dots of its windows as well. It felt like he had fallen asleep without realizing it… or perhaps he was still dreaming. “How did…  we get here this fast?” he asked breathlessly.

            The droid just stared at him.

            “Your brain is malfunctioning in the absence of the chip we removed.”

            “What?” Rex’s stomach tightened. “No. Just tell me what you were saying, droid!”

            “Shall I begin with my instructions on how to handle this transaction? Were you in standby for that fifteen minute period?”

            “Standby? I….” Rex exhaled, trying to remember. But he couldn’t. Not a single word. _Fifteen minutes._ “I wasn’t on standby, I was just… thinking.” Echo had been on standby, when the chip malfunctioned. Was the same thing happening to his brain, now that it was removed? He pulled it from his pocket for a moment and looked at the little mass of tissues. Could it be that the med droid hadn’t removed the chip at all, but some other part of his brain? Or perhaps there was a failsafe built in, meant to destroy normal brain function as a response to the chip’s removal.

            “You do not remember any of my instructions.”

            “I’m to be your escort while you offload your cargo,” Rex muttered, disturbed. “That’s all I heard.”

            “Your mental deficiency will be inconvenient for me,” TL-89 said, adjusting their course as they approached the planet’s light side. “You have asked repeatedly for more details on my plans, and you do not listen when I tell them to you.”

            Rex stayed silent, trying to control the fear trickling through his veins and interrupting his breaths like wires in his lungs. He had never spaced out this badly before. In his room, when there was nothing but silence and memories, that was one thing. Sometimes he caught himself staring at the wall in the middle of physical therapy exercises, or opening his eyes when he hadn’t remembered closing them for a few seconds, his mind caught up in abstractions he couldn’t fully recall, like fever dreams. Just a few seconds, he had thought, but how could he really know without a chrono? Hours could have passed.

            “Do you hear me, human?”

            “Yeah,” Rex said loudly. “I hear you, droid. I’m listening now. Tell me your plan.”

            “I will tell you the simple version, so your defective brain can focus on it.”

            Rex grimaced, arms folded tight to contain his shaking chest. “Fine.”

            “You are still Jek Novar. The transaction will be simple. You will allow them to inspect the cargo, but not to depart with it until they have paid. If they attempt to do so, I will shoot them. But I predict they will not take that risk. You will hand the payment to me immediately and I will check that it is fair. Then we will attempt to locate Doctor Anzerra.”

            “Doctor Anzerra?” He looked at the droid. “Who’s that?”

            “He is a scientist who may be interested in your chip.”

            “You had a contact all along?” Rex glared, not daring to hope.

            “It is not someone I know personally. He will not be aware that we are both defectors. He must not be made aware.”

            “Will he suspect what I am?”

            “I predict he will not, so long as you play your part as my keeper. It will be too unexpected for a clone and a tactical droid to work together.”

            “So what do I tell him about the chip?” Rex thought for a minute. “Just that it’s implanted in a lot of people and I want to find a way to deactivate it quickly. If he’s a separatist, maybe he’ll believe the Republic does this to ordinary citizens… or prisoners of war….”

            “He has expressed dissatisfaction with both sides,” said the droid. “Perhaps he will be willing to scan your brain to determine if it is truly damaged. The medical droid said that your brain activity increased after the chip was removed. There is a small chance you are simply over stimulated.”

            “It did?” Rex asked, before he pulled the memory loose from the drug-muddled fog of that day. He hoped the droid was right. “It did say that. I don’t understand. The chip _is_ an inhibitor? It… why would they do this to us? To…” The answer settled in his gut. “To make us focus.”

            “Unnecessary distractions on the battlefield result in a significant loss of efficiency. For example, droids do not feel pain.”

            Rex shuddered with revulsion. He looked down at the chip again, dazed at all the sensations he could not find words for. “This is normal?” he whispered. “How does anyone… how can anyone stand this?”

            “I do not know how humans can stand their own inefficiency.”

             “Funny, droid.” Rex stood up and began pacing behind the droid’s seat. “How do you know all these people, anyway? People like Anzerra, and the medical droid? How long have you been _independent_? And who is this intermediary you mentioned before?”

            “I have an extensive list of contacts from personal experience as well as data salvaged from the ship I last served on.”

            “So these are all people General Chikset knows.”

            “The ones we are delivering the cargo to know nothing of General Chikset. They are mercenaries. As for Doctor Anzerra, he is not well trusted by the separatist military. His work is no longer endorsed by them, but he is skilled in his field. The most rational conclusion is that his loyalty is in question.”

            “Which makes him a potential ally,” Rex breathed. The planet was coming closer, and the conversation kept the unstable feeling in his mind contained, although his body still trembled slightly like a stretched wire. “Got it. What’s my rank when I’m talking to him?”

            “You will not tell him. He is an outlier, and does not have much regard for rank. Playing the part of a confederate soldier may do more harm than good. It is difficult to predict without more data.”

            “So… then…why is he going to want to hear me out?”

            “You will persuade him that the chip is of interest to him. He does not need to know your origins to be interested in understanding such a complex piece of technology.”

            “Right.” Rex sighed. “Guess I have a little while to think it over.”

            “Yes. I will not speak for you this time. However, I will not be pleased if you are captured.”

            “Nice to know you care,” Rex said dryly. He rested his right arm on the back of the co-pilot’s seat as they began to hit the atmosphere.

…

            The ramp opened, this time to a damp, slightly sour smell. Rex took in a glimpse of plasteel buildings, mostly weather-stained white, some painted other colors, squareish, crammed and scattered in a hodge-podge that left uneven gaps between. He glanced at the droid and took an experimental step away from it, pushing the hover cart laden with crates. Then he took another. TL-89 followed, step for step, E-5 rifle in hand. It stayed just within arm’s reach as Rex stepped down onto the landing pad.

            “Now, we wait,” said TL-89. They let the carts rest on the ground.

            Rex swept the area, feeling naked again without his armor and helmet. The absence of a weapon within reach was even worse. He turned his head—there was movement: a shadow in the corner of his eye or a scuff on the edge of his hearing, probably in one of the many dark windows that peered at them over the nearest paint-smudged walls. The sky was a steely grey. It was a hilly city; he could only see the nearest small valley and the sides of the undulations around him.

            “We’re being watched,” he whispered to the droid, keeping his expression bored.

            The droid turned its head steadily left, then right, and said nothing.

            Rex tried to find another hint. His eyes and ears were his only defense now, hard as it was to trust them. He settled on a dark alcove set into the fifth floor of a hotel or apartment building of some kind. But no matter how he stared, he couldn’t see clear movement from this distance.

            He brought his eyes back down seconds before one of the ground-level buildings raised its massive door. Four speeders came through, bearing two Rodians, a tall, heavily muscled blonde woman, and a Qiraash.

            Rex glanced at the droid, who nodded just slightly.

            “Well,” Rex said loudly. “Look who finally showed up.”

            The Rodians stayed put on their speeders while the woman and the Qiraash came forward.

            “Four crates, as ordered,” the Qiraash commented to his companion, casually gesturing with his blaster.

            “We’ll need to inspect them,” she said. Her voice was a little higher than he’d expected.

            “Naturally,” Rex said. He stepped back just a little to let them have a look; he was curious as well.

            She pulled the lid off the nearest one and a familiar strong, heady smell filled Rex’s nose. Inside were hundreds of little sachets. The Qiraash smiled crookedly even as he recoiled.

            “ _Very_ good,” he said. “You did not cheat us on the quality.”

            “I believe in honoring my agreements,” Rex said easily. The buzz of nerves stayed firmly in the back of his mind. Funny how this came much more naturally now that he was in respectable clothing and wasn’t in enormous amounts of pain.

            “Nice droid,” the woman said. “Did you reprogram him yourself? I heard they’re pretty tough to crack.”

            “They are,” Rex said, and left it at that. She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head in a conceding gesture. “If you’re satisfied with the shipment, we’d like our payment now.”

            “Ohoh,” the Qiraash said. “We. You and the droid are partners, then?”

            “I humor him,” Rex quickly covered.

            “It takes all kinds,” the Qiraash shrugged. “Alright. Here.” He tossed a small handled case to Rex, who only just managed to catch it smoothly with both hands.

            He quickly hid his left behind the case and tried to hand it to the droid. The droid kept both hands on the rifle.

            “So now we’ll be on our way,” said the woman.

            “Not until we’ve checked that the payment is complete,” Rex called. “Come on, sparky, give me the rifle, and _you_ count the change.”

            The droid dipped its head for a moment, and then made the exchange. The E-5 was heavier than Rex expected, and his left arm almost immediately began to tremble from bracing it. He looked up, hoping the others couldn’t see it, and saw one of the Rodians’ speeders already hooked up to the crates and pulling away.

            “Hey!” he called, lifting the rifle. “Not until we give the order!”

            The Rodian said something rapid and incomprehensible in its own language.

            “I said drop it!”

            The Rodian continued to pull away. A blaster bolt rang out, and without hesitation Rex fired a warning shot at the ground next to the Rodian’s speeder. Except his aim wobbled and hit the speeder’s engines instead. There was a loud explosion, and the Rodian flew through the air and hit the ground with a wail of pain.

            The Qiraash and the woman aimed their pistols at him immediately, while the other Rodian ran to check on his friend.

            Rex ducked just as the woman fired.

            “Sorry,” Rex said as he straightened, lowering his own rifle. “That was supposed to be a warning shot.”

            “I’m sure,” the woman growled in wide-eyed anger.

            “The payment is not what we agreed,” droned the droid. “There is five percent missing.”

            “You will take it and go, if you don’t want us to kill you,” said the woman.

            “Unacceptable—”

            “Don’t listen to him,” Rex said over the droid. “I say it _is_ acceptable. Keep the five percent and use it to pay for medical treatment for your friend.”

            TL-89 wrenched the rifle from his hands and Rex’s arm zinged.

            “You will pay what you owe us,” said the droid. “Or this rifle will misfire again. It is extremely unreliable.”

            “Try it, droid, and we shoot you and your human master,” said the Qiraash. “Nothing personal,” he added, glancing at Rex.

            Rex already knew there wasn't much cover apart from diving behind the droid. He stepped closer to it.

            “Take the shipment,” said the droid. “If we ever do business again, I will expect the five percent repaid in full.”

            “I think it already has been,” huffed the woman, guns still trained on them as the Qiraash went back to check on the Rodians.

            “She’s burned pretty badly,” he called back.

            “You better leave before he changes his mind,” Rex said, more as a warning than a threat.

            “We will,” said the woman, and stared hard at him for just a bit longer than Rex was comfortable with.

            In a few minutes, they had hooked the crates to the speeders and left the way they came, except for the shrapnel of the one Rex had hit.

            “Was this another intentional attempt to endanger your own life?” TL-89 shoved him and Rex stumbled back to catch his balance.

            “No. I was _trying_ to follow the plan. My arm just….” Rex exhaled roughly. “It didn’t cooperate.”

            “You cannot be trusted with weapons.”

            “I didn’t try to shoot you, did I? It was heavier than I expected. If it were a pistol, I never would have missed!”

            TL-89 turned to walk back up the ramp. “Repairs on organic beings are inconveniently time-consuming.”

            “Tell me about it,” Rex muttered. He shoved his left hand into his pocket with frustration. But as he followed the droid, he glanced over his shoulder, unable to shake the feeling that they were still being watched. “Hey. What about that scientist?”

            “The area of his last recorded activity is over three hundred kilometers southwest of this position, and there is very little public transportation on Llanic.”

            “Llanic? So that’s where we are… I thought we passed some space stations on the way in. Never heard much about the actual planet though.”

             “It is largely unregulated except for areas controlled by the Hutts. It is an acceptable beginning place for criminals and beings without allegiances.”

            “So, beings like you.”

            “Yes,” said TL-89.

            Once they were back in the cockpit, cruising over the rolling hills all crowded with pale barnacles of buildings, Rex found himself second-guessing his actions. It didn’t matter to him if the droid was underpaid. He had no business risking his life over that when there was something so much larger at stake. He wasn’t sure why he had bothered.

            “You’re still going to help me find Doctor Anzerra?” he asked.

            “Yes.”

            “Hm.” Perhaps the droid was harder to annoy than he thought. “Did I just ruin any future business opportunities for you on this world?”

            “No. Most mercenaries are familiar with the possibility of deadly force during negotiations. However, it was foolish for you to surrender the missing payment so easily. Again, you show a surprising sympathy toward criminals.”

            “It wasn’t sympathy,” Rex argued. “We were outnumbered. Four guns to one.”

            “Yes. You greatly increased the probability of your own death by firing. I decreased it slightly by taking the gun from you and drawing attention to myself. Be grateful, human.”

            Rex twisted his mouth in disgust. As he tried to suppress it, he found himself aware of the distance between their ship and the buildings below, and that sense of vertigo hit him again. He closed his eyes but that only made it stronger. Could the chip’s removal give him a new fear of heights, of space? No… it wasn’t a fear of heights so much as fear of what his brain might surprise him with next. A fear of uncertainty, of never being able to return to the person he had been. Of not knowing whether any mistakes he made were due to a now-permanent change in mind and body, or were just a momentary weakness and lack of judgment.

…

            They came in to land in a larger port, and the eerie quiet of the place they had left was completely gone. Here there were eddying crowds of beings of all kinds: Weequay, Muun, Toidarian, Devaronian, Sullustan, Gossam, Bothan, and many Rex didn't recognize. The smell was less uniform but more unpleasant, mixing fuels and foods and bodily fluids with cleaners and scented smoke. The ramp had opened onto chaos.

            “Human! Come, I said,” the droid commanded. Rex focused in on its white eyes, unnerved that again, he had not heard its first command. “You must walk in front of me. We are going to the market first.”

            “No,” Rex said. “We’re going to see Doctor Anzerra first.”

            He walked past the droid, across the wide haphazardly cordoned-off landing area and into the crowd, hating that he was compelled to glance back to make sure TL-89 was following. His list of contacts was too valuable a resource. Rex had no fear of being robbed—the only valuable thing he had on him was the chip in his pocket. The fingers of his left hand, though they trembled, were wrapped firmly around it. 

            TL-89 came close in step once it had locked up the ship, although it did not hurry to catch up at first. It knew he would wait. It knew he had no idea where he was going. Rex stopped near an open shop selling unusual weapons. Most were blades, spears, or bows of some kind and seemed more for show, although there were a few bold advertisements: _Instant death! Microscopic poison-injecting needles on blade’s edge, for guaranteed victory!_

“So, which way is it?” he asked the droid.

            “Unknown. He may not reside on this planet any longer.”

            “I thought you said you know where he lives!”

            “I did not. As I said, this is where his last recorded activity took place, and it is rumored that he lives on the planet’s surface.”

            “Rumored.” Rex shook his head and sighed. “So what _was_ his last recorded activity?”

            “Brief, uncooperative contact with separatist agents who interrupted a transaction between himself and a supplier of rare plant matter from Syned.”

            “And where was that?”

            “I have the coordinates.” TL-89 pushed its way through the nearby crowd and Rex hurried to keep up. “It was in the Quanelt District, two point four kilometers north-northeast,” said the droid, when they were standing side-by-side again.

            Rex turned to the left in front of the droid and crossed in front of several more busy shops and a food stand which belched a musty, spicy steam from the various pots behind its counters. He navigated the crowd with subconscious ease once he set his mind to moving forward, and it gradually thinned to a more manageable consistency. The buildings became higher, spaced slightly further apart, and fenced with featureless walls—except where self-proclaimed artists had left their touch.

            As he walked, Rex tried to think of what to say to Anzerra. From what the droid said, the doctor also seemed to be a mercenary of sorts. Why else would he be living here? The buildings became cleaner and sturdier-looking as he went on, the smells milder, but Rex still couldn’t imagine anyone happily choosing to spend his life in such a place. The reckless, desperate, or greedy intentions of everyone around him were easy to see.

            “Is he dangerous?” Rex finally asked the droid in an undertone, as they passed a group of buildings cobbled together from gutted ships. “Anzerra. What’s his criminal record?”

            “Officially, he has been fined for dealing with illegal substances in his scientific work. I know of no violent crime associated with his name, but the record may be incomplete.”

            “I wonder what kinds of illegal substances, and what for,” Rex muttered to himself.

            “Your options are limited if you do not wish your chip or your life to fall into enemy hands.”

            “I know that.” Rex took a deep breath and stopped at one of many not-quite-intersections, where the gaps between buildings were wider than usual and seemed to correspond with a parallel opening on the other side of the street. Unlike in Elrooden, people didn’t seem scared or angered by the droid who shadowed him—when they did glance up from their street-side dealings, their faces showed only curiosity, territorial wariness, or indifference.

            “This way… Master Novar,” TL-89 droned, and took the lead, its elbow deliberately bumping against Rex’s left arm as it passed.

            The road widened and dipped steeply, and the surface became rough, stripped with shallow gouges Rex guessed were for giving traction to vehicles in bad weather. Some kind of yellow moss or mold grew in the cracks. His thoughts wouldn’t form into a coherent plan; it felt like they were broken in pieces, each piece walking away with each being that passed him on the road. All that held still in his mind was the name. Anzerra. Anzerra. Meaningless.

            When the droid pulled him up onto the wide threshold of a cantina, Rex jarred himself to a stop.

            TL-89 stopped too and pointed at the _no droids allowed_ sign. “You must enter alone.”

            _No._ Rex’s head felt full of static, and there was even more noise, more beings beyond the dim entrance. It was all seeping into him like the humid, smelly air. He took a deep breath. That was ridiculous. He wasn’t _afraid_ , but… taking another step felt like taking one more bite of unappetizing food when his stomach was already full.

            “Go,” TL-89 said, shoving some credits at him.

            Rex took the credits, squared his shoulders and stepped through the doorway into the noise.

            It wasn’t that loud. Not really. The music was relatively melodic, no vocals, the interior mostly lit with reds and violets. Most of the clientele were seated, but nevertheless they seemed to be taking up every inch of the tiered room. Rex had never had a problem with crowds before. Crowds came with being a clone. Closed-in spaces, noise, flashing lights, unpleasant smells… it was all part of being a soldier. And now he could barely take another step.

            He did take another step. Soon he was down the stairs and up to the counter, staring into the enormous nostrils of the Orfite bartender.

            “You look a little spaced, kid,” the Orfite chuckled, leaning on one beefy arm across the bar. “Need a hit? I’ve got some great tablets for this stim mask here. First-time discount special, even.”

            The mask was attached to a small unit on the tender’s belt, a faintly colored liquid sloshing inside.

            “No thanks. I’ll just have a drink. I’m looking for someone.”

            The Orfite’s wide grin faded a little. “Bounty hunter, eh?

            “No.” Rex laid every credit the droid had given him on the counter, but kept his hand resting on the pile. “Have you ever heard of a Doctor Anzerra?”

            “Anzerra?” The bartender scratched at thinning black hair, staring hard at the bottle chandelier on the ceiling. “What kind of doctor is he?”

            “A scientist,” Rex said. “Studies some kind of biology, I guess.”

            “Some kind of biology….” The Orfite laughed, snuffling a little. “Friend, everybody ‘round here studies some kind of biology.”

            “They do?” Rex paused, confused and barely hopeful, until he saw the human couple in the corner the bartender was gesturing toward. “Oh. No, I think Anzerra studies plants and… cybernetics, maybe.  I heard he ran into some separatist officials here while trying to buy a rare plant from… Syned. Yeah, Syned. Does any of that sound familiar?”

            “Hmmm. Oh!” The bartender smacked the counter so hard the glasses rattled on each end, and the customers glared. “You mean that Anomid fellow! That was weeks ago.”

            “Yes,” Rex said earnestly, before he could hesitate. The droid hadn’t mentioned Anzerra’s species, but all the same. “You do remember, then.”

            “Oh, yeah. He never came here more than half a dozen times, I’m sure. Hasn’t been back since those suits gave him trouble. Sorry.”

            “You must know something more about him,” Rex insisted. “Where does he live? Is it close by?”

            “Buddy, I can count the number of customers’ addresses I know on one hand.” The enormous, spread fingers lifted toward his face and Rex stepped back an inch, fingers tight around the credits. “More than half of the people who come in here are just passing through, even the regulars. I didn’t even know the guy’s name until you told me.”

            Rex sighed. “Do you know where I might find a lead?”

            “Sorry. I don’t usually tangle with that sort on my down time. But if you hang out long enough, all kinds of people pass through. Maybe you’ll spot a scientist who knows him. Now, you want something hard?”

            Rex looked up at the menu, calculating the average price of a drink. The Orfite watched him, ogre-ish face skewing more and more with each second.

            “You’ve got enough for anything on the menu. Where you from, anyway?”

            “I know,” Rex said, and slid a portion of the credits across the counter. “Let’s just say I bought a drink and call it even. I’ve got to be moving on.”

            “Hm. Works for me, I guess.” The bartender swept the credits with one hand into the other. “Good luck.”

            Rex turned to leave, swimming step by step through the atmosphere of the bar, back out into the shallower sensations of the street.

            “Nothing,” he whispered before the droid could ask. “No leads. The bartender remembers Anzerra, but last he came in was weeks ago.”

            “Six weeks and two rotations,” TL-89 said.

            “Didn’t know anything about him.” Rex took a step away from the droid and stopped. “There has to be more information from your files we can use to find him. Isn’t there some kind of scientific community he might be part of that would know how to contact him?”

            “The files are incomplete. The CIS military did not keep open records of their observations of Anzerra once he was deemed suspect.”

            Rex held out the remaining credits to the droid. “Then we’ll just have to track him down ourselves.”

            TL-89 put it away in the pouch across its chest. “I have more business on Llanic to attend to. You will assist me. I will allow you to look for leads until we are due to leave the system.”

            Rex nodded once, bracing himself against the frustration and fear of failure. Maybe the droid would stay good on its word. Maybe some of the people TL-89 was doing business with had heard of Anzerra. If he could just get one good lead before the droid’s patience ran out, before his own mind unraveled too much, that might be enough.

            Wiping the sweat of his palms on his pants, Rex turned to follow the droid through the dizzying dream of neon lights, invasive stares and a tilting planet. How long had he spent in the bar?

            “It got dark all of a sudden,” Rex murmured, with a glance between the buildings at the lumpy bruise-colored clouds overhead.

            “We are near one of the poles of this planet. The sun appears to remain close to the horizon during all daylight hours.”

            So at least he hadn’t lost any more time in _standby_. “I’d hate to see how warm it is near the equator.”

            “We may travel there, if business requires it. We will be negotiating to transport some items to the stations in orbit tonight.”

            “Great,” Rex breathed, wishing the sour, humid air wasn’t so heavy in his lungs. All of this would be worth it if Anzerra agreed to help. “I can’t wait.”

            “You would do well to reconsider your plan, human.”

            “And why is that?” Rex kept his voice low.

            “Consider the effect that your surgery has had on your mental functions. I predict that deactivation in the rest of your kind would result in the same insanity.”

            “Insanity?” Rex muttered. “I’m not crazy.”

            He swallowed the tightness rising in his throat. Fives’ head had been shaved, that night at the warehouse; he had removed his chip, Rex was sure of it. If this kind of deterioration had happened in his mind too, maybe that was what made Fives act so unlike himself, so afraid.

            _I’m not crazy!_

            Fives was right about the chip. He had to be. But he could have been crazy, too. Unbalanced. The same shame and doubt Rex had felt the night he said goodbye to Cody rushed over him as he walked through the crowd, that nagging fear that all this time his judgment was impaired, that he was making connections where there were none, and removing the chip was a mistake. He felt along the edge of its casing in his pocket, trying to stay on the street and not let his mind or feet wander into the groups of bystanders in dark corners. This feeling wasn’t normal, and it might only get worse.

            What would happen to the army if every clone suddenly found themselves in this state of mind, losing faith in the Republic, in their own thoughts—hallucinating? The chaos could be nearly as awful as the nightmares. After all, Fives had grabbed impulsively at Rex’s pistols, had at least _acted_ ready to shoot one of his own out of panic.

            But even if General Skywalker were here now, full of anger and disapproval, using that same voice he’d used in Fives’ last moments… Rex would never pull a trigger on him by choice, no matter how afraid or confused. Better the Republic be shaken by a little confusion than be overthrown by one man controlling millions of human droids. He knew his men in the 501st would feel the same. Cody would feel the same.

            “Human.”

            He jerked out of his thoughts to see the droid watching him as they walked. “What?” he snapped, heart sinking. “What did you say?”

            “I said ‘Human.’”

            Rex frowned. “What do you want?”

            “I was testing your awareness. You must be attentive when we meet with our next contact.”

            Rex looked away from the droid’s glowing eyes. He tried to stay at the outer edge of the wordless labyrinth his mind kept falling into, to match the noise in his mind with the sight of so many beings moving around them in the street. The way looked unfamiliar in the dark, until he managed to spot one of the shipwrecked buildings they’d passed earlier. He corrected course, took slower breaths and longer strides.

            “I’m aware,” he muttered to the droid. “I know exactly what’s at stake.”


	21. Chapter 21

            Echo looked down 7723's sniper’s scope at the training course below and watched himself scuttle behind one of the low walls for cover. Destroyers advanced over the bridge connecting his half of the course from the suggestion of a courtyard on the other side. Behind the courtyard was a row of buildings, and inside one of those buildings was his target.

            He set 7723 to start taking snipe shots in an effort to draw enemy fire. In the same moment, he hauled 7721 and 7722 halfway up from where they were hanging on both sides of the narrow bridge. He sent 7724 out from behind the other shallow wall to shoot a grappling hook across the channel while the other two rolled grenades toward the enemy.

            For a moment, he looked through two pairs of eyes up at the sniper position where 7723 was popping in and out of sight with a dead hit each time—if only the destroyers hadn’t been ray shielded. Then, with 7724 zip-lining over the channel, he saw the bright flashes and knew the destroyers’ shields were down.

            Echo vaulted over the wall and sent a simulated rocket toward the tank that was targeting him. The tank shut down in a flurry of sparks, and while he advanced toward the building in front of him, dodging and shooting B-1s, a regular training bolt hit 7724 just as he was about to reach the end of the zip-line.

            The squad collectively winced as pain zinged through 7724's leg, and Echo forced 7724’s hands to stay firm on the grappling gun while he himself continued running for the building’s entrance, discarding the empty rocket launcher and continuing with a pistol in both hands. From the edge of the bridge, 7721 rolled more grenades toward the destroyers and 7722 shot at those whose shields were down. At the same time, 7724 let go of the zip-line and landed on solid ground.

            From 7723’s sniper position across the room, he loaded a rocket launcher and began methodically taking out the guns on the side of the target building. It was a much messier, louder operation than Echo liked, but this simulation didn’t grade on stealth.

            7724 circled around toward the back entrance while 7722 and 7721 left their cover at the edge of the bridge to engage the enemy more directly. The last destroyer toppled over and 7721 took up a post on one side of the main entrance while Echo and 7722 went inside by the ground floor entrance.

             It was dark. He switched to night vision. There on the floor was the inert droid meant to stand in as his target captive. He took a step toward it, rolled suddenly to the side, and saw bright lights flash from the wall a moment later, searing the air where he had stood.

            He must have accessed the simulation’s network unintentionally—otherwise he wouldn’t have known the booby trap was there. He would have to take more care not to cheat from now on.

            Carefully 7722 approached the point where the light had emitted. There was a small node on the wall. He blasted it point-blank, and pulled a scanner from his belt to sweep the rest of the room. Nothing. Echo heaved the dummy over his shoulder. Up three levels, 7724 was just entering the rear hallway and sweeping for traps. There were four of them: one for a doorway on each side, one in the middle of the hall, and a blip of something near the lift, which was their final target.

            7724 waited until Echo had gotten the “captive” out of the building before backing up to the ledge he’d come in by and shooting the nearest emitter. It produced a small explosion, but nothing that would weaken the structure too badly. He quickly took out the other four, ran to the lift, detached the detonation pack from his back and began assembling the mock explosive. While Echo took the droid back over the bridge with 7721 and 7722 tailing, 7724's mental chronometer ran down and he hooked the last few pieces together before syncing it all with his handheld.

            Out the window again, and after a quick crawl and jump down, he ran to join the rest of them. Halfway to the bridge, he hit the button and watched the structure flash briefly in confirmation of success. The lighting changed, shifting more blue, and Echo checked the simulation’s total run time. 19:32:08. A new record, but not as good as he wanted.

            “Very impressive,” said a Kaminoan voice from the doorway. They all turned to see Ilu Bai approaching: one of the original trainers. He had done some work with the squad before Echo had joined them, according to their collective record. His opinion had not seemed high.

            “Thank you, sir,” said Echo, advancing to stand at the head of the group just as 7723 and 7724 joined them. “Unfortunately, this program does not make full use of our abilities. But it does provide an adequate physical challenge.”

            Ilu Bai glanced up at the tower 7723 had been sniping from, and the extensive obstacle course they had all cleared before reaching that point. “It’s unfortunate that your greatest advantage over other squads is also your greatest weakness.”

            Echo did not ask what he meant.

            “I wonder,” Ilu Bai mused, staring with half-lidded eyes into each helmet, one by one. “Was your malfunction on Anaxes an isolated defect in your implant, or could it be a significant risk for all members of your squad?”

            “There is no further risk of such a malfunction,” said Echo.

            “You seem _terribly_ certain.” Ilu Bai folded his hands. “But Sa Eno has always insisted that your programming could resist any corruption from enemy software _…_ before this occurred.”

            “There will always be unknowns, sir,” Echo replied flatly. “My implant has been adapted to resist such threats in the future.”

            “Is that so.” Ilu Bai smiled coldly down at Echo. “I have a theory I will be discussing with Sa Eno. I believe your isolation from the rest of the group was a direct cause of your aggression. It shouldn’t be too difficult to test.”

            Alarm sparked through the network.

            “After all, you are the more volatile element in this squad, ARC-Zero-Four-Zero-Eight. Your mind was introduced to it because the commandos were too reliant on outside orders to be effective. It is _unimaginable_ that they would take it upon themselves to kill civilians and fellow clones. You, on the other hand….” Ilu Bai turned back toward to the exit. “Perhaps we can find a more stable unit to replace you.”

            Resistance continued to surge from the back of his mind, a vague synergy of defensiveness in four parts. Echo’s first impulse was to shut it down completely, but the thoughts quickly crystallized into something rational.

            If Ilu Bai talked to Sa Eno about the details of the Anaxes mission, he may already suspect something went awry with Echo’s chip. They had to warn Sa Eno of the possible consequences should he discover the truth.

            Reaching out through the city network, he located Sa Eno; she was in her lab as usual, running tests on a droid she’d modified. He could tell from the data she was inputting.  He commanded the screen she was using to open a new file and type out the words: _Urgent: no mention of surgery. Decommission sure to follow any knowledge of the device’s removal. Diode Squad project possibly terminated. 04087721222324._

            A lift was coming toward the lab, and Echo suspected it carried Ilu Bai. The file Echo had made vanished suddenly from the lab’s network. Together, the squad walked out of the simulation room and the maintenance droids zipped inside to stow and reset the battle droids. At the sharp scraping noise of metal against the floor, a brief memory flickered of a lopsided smile, a withered body limp in his arms. Then it was gone, filed away in its proper place without another thought, one of a million bits of data forgotten as soon as it was processed.

…

            The door gave a muted chime, and Sa Eno distractedly commanded it to open.

            “I have observed them in action, as you suggested,” Ilu Bai said without preamble as he invaded her lab with impatient strides. He spoke in terse Kaminoan—a private conversation, then. She turned away from the console where Echo’s message had appeared and then vanished just minutes before. “I am not prepared to plead their case before Lama Su and the Republic high command.”

            “Why not?” asked Sa Eno, responding in kind. She tabbed quickly between the various displays of data she was feeding the droid, and glanced up at Ilu Bai’s long face—narrower than most, almost unpleasantly so. “Did they not perform well?”

            “On the contrary….” Ilu Bai paced slowly with only a cursory glance at the work in front of her. “Their performance was more than adequate. But that will not relieve concerns about their reliability. Your report on the arc trooper’s condition seems too confident to me. How do you know this cannot happen again?”

            “I have… removed the programming which allowed for the violence to occur.”

            “How is that possible?” Ilu Bai stopped and half-closed his eyes.

            Sa Eno set down her datapad and turned to face him fully. “The implant developed a conflict with itself which resulted in a misinterpretation of orders. It over simplified the incoming data.” She realized she sounded flustered and hoped he interpreted it as mere professional embarrassment. “I have rewritten parts of his base programming to be more thorough, and strengthened the firewall programs to account for that. Also… it has been affirmed that Diode Squad can function independently of him when required, so they will be able to influence Unit Zero's actions on such an occasion. They can act as a failsafe for him.”

            “They didn’t manage to stop him before.” Ilu Bai angled his head to look with mock curiosity at the droid she was working on.

            “Yes, but that is because his implant severed the network in order to keep the virus from spreading. Now I have modified Unit Zero and the network to immediately give complete control to the remaining units in case of infection, rather than simply cutting them off. If the virus spreads to more than two units, infected units will be terminated instantly.”

            “I see.” Ilu Bai paused and straightened, seeming undecided about whether she or a blank corner of the wall was more interesting to look at. He lifted her datapad off the table where she’d set it as he came back around.

            She restrained herself from demanding he put it down. Her research on the squad was legally the property of the military, and any research outside that should be uninteresting to Ilu Bai. Hopefully no other mysterious message would appear on its own while Ilu Bai watched.

            “Well, it does appear you have taken this problem seriously,” he said. “You’ll have to forgive my impulsive judgment. But I am not certain even this will be enough to recommend the complete unit for a return to active duty… given the severe political consequences of their mistakes.”

            “What consequences?” Sa Eno lifted a hand palm-up. Thankfully, Ilu Bai handed the pad over, and she saw that he hadn’t navigated away from the original screen.

            “Relations between Mrlsst and Anaxes are… strained at this time due to the number of Mrlssi killed during your project’s last mission. The Mrlssi have categorized it as a massacre. A small group of them are advocating for secession from the Republic, and the Mrlssi scientific community is demanding an investigation… which the Republic has refused to carry out, in the interest of military security, of course. I’m afraid Diode Squad is a convenient scapegoat. And to be perfectly fair… it does seem to me that their malfunction was the primary catalyst for this… messy situation.” He used one small hand gesture to encompass her entire lab.

            “You’re saying the Republic will permanently decommission the entire squad, simply as a token apology toward the Mrlssi?” Sa Eno stiffened to her full height.

            “It is a small sacrifice, to ensure the continued support of Mrlsst.” Ilu Bai put his hands behind his back. “I’m sure the Anaxsi military have some hand in this request, and given that they are to the navy what Kamino is to the army… high command will never require them to admit fault. Your Diode Squad is unusual enough that they can be blamed without putting the entire clone army into question.”

            “You speak as if a decision has already been reached! This squad has proven invaluable to the Republic—they saved the navy from that virus. The Republic could have lost the war by now without them!”

            “They did save the Republic navy, yes, without the help… or interference… of ARC-Zero-Four-Zero-Eight. Which is why we might make a compromise: if the ARC trooper is decommissioned, I may be free to recommend the squad be returned to active service under new leadership.”

             “I will continue studying Unit Zero, even if he is decommissioned,” Sa Eno said firmly, once she’d gathered herself.

            “That has not yet been decided,” Ilu Bai insisted, stepping close. “He may be too unpredictable to keep. I believe his background has made him unstable. He has become the weak point in the squad.”

            “He is no threat to any of us. I will limit his functions if need be, but he is my project! The military was only interested in him once I proved he could be useful.” Sa Eno’s voice went crisp with bitterness. “Before that, they were content to let me study his adaptation to the implant without any interference. If the military is finished with him, he should be kept available to me for research. If nothing else, I will need him as a model for adapting another clone unit to this technology.”

             “Perhaps,” Ilu Bai said softly. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t risk my entire project on one clone that was broken to begin with. It is curious to me that you put so much effort into putting him back together in the first place.”

            “It provided a great deal of insight into the adaptive capabilities of the human body when combined with supportive technology.” She stepped away from him, back toward the droid, but Ilu Bai went on.

            “That may be, but from my point of view, he has certainly outlived his usefulness.”

            “Your wastefulness is shameful,” Sa Eno said in a cutting whisper, glancing at him. “Our heritage of survival was not built on such carelessness.”

            “No? It was not built on sentimentality either. You must learn to leave lesser beings behind, Doctor. They will only hold you back.” He headed for the door at last. “I will be in touch.”

            The door opened, and shut, and at last Sa Eno was alone. She waited a few seconds to be sure he was gone before pressing down on the comm panel.

             “Diode Squad, this is Sa Eno.” Her voice was cool and held none of the frustration it had during her conversation with Ilu Bai. “Report to the lab immediately.”

…

            The lift took a few minutes. During those few minutes, Echo was surprised at the mild but tenacious insistence that stayed active in the back of his mind, reminding him first of his promise to Rex, and then of his duty to the Republic. He had observed Ilu Bai's conversation with Sa Eno, of course, and the implicated threat in his words was severe. If Echo was terminated for inadequacy, as Ilu Bai predicted, at least the rest of the squad would be preserved to continue with the effort to save the Republic. But if Echo was condemned as a traitor, they would be put under suspicion by association. They were one mind, after all, sharing the same treasonous memories and ideas.

            Another half-dead clone being transformed into what he was now would be an inevitable risk either way—the moment the new Unit Zero joined the network, he would know all of Diode’s memories, all of their intel regarding the chip. He could leak the information to the wrong people. And Sa Eno would face the same dilemma of whether to keep the chip in or hope that it never met the same sort of virus. She was already keeping secrets from the military. It would be better to confront her with all of it on their own terms.

            _We could escape._ The thought drifted across his mind and he wasn’t sure which unit it came from. It had arisen so many times, an irrational idea that had faded out as his old self died. The doctor had mentioned the capability of terminating them at will, and Echo knew that with his dependence on the implant, death would be all too simple a matter.

            No, escape was pointless. Sa Eno was the only person who was in any position to help them prevent this oncoming catastrophe… a catastrophe that Echo found completely unproductive to contemplate. The data he needed wasn’t there.

            He had tried to analyze what _was_ there in the facility network. The encryption on the Fett project’s initial planning files hadn’t taken him more than a few hours to bypass. There had been multiple alert systems. Blinding them provided an interesting challenge. But once he had the data laid out before him, it had been ultimately unhelpful. There was no accurate data about the chip—the only two places it seemed to show up at all, it was referred to as the “secondary inhibitive augmentation”.

             There was no use in trying to prevent something which was made so inevitable by beings much more powerful than he was. It was not his purpose.

            No. Unacceptable. It was unacceptable for him to turn himself over to death without an attempt at life, at effect. That is every soldier’s imperative. That is the lesson the rest of him needed to learn.

            Why? Echo’s mind quieted into simple streams of data, the city’s pulse. He did not think. He observed until they entered the lab.

            Sa Eno did not rise. She glanced up from her computer terminal only for a moment, still feeding data to the droid. The door closed behind them and they took off their helmets, knowing she would ask them to. Judging by the record of responses she had elicited from the droid today, she was testing its creative decision making skills in a military context.

            She remained silent for a few more minutes before she finally straightened and said, “Let’s test your networking capabilities. Can you detect any recording devices in this laboratory?”

            “Yes,” Echo said.

            “Can you activate or deactivate them remotely?”

            “Yes.”

            “Are any of them active now?”

            “No.”

            “Good.” Sa Eno’s voice lowered and she stood, her attention fully turned on them. “Were any of them active during my conversation with Ilu Bai?”

            “Yes, Doctor. You seem to have understood my message.”

            “Well enough. Although I must admit, I am… somewhat startled by the initiative it must have taken for you to send it.” Sa Eno looked at him with wide eyes, her voice soft with disbelief. “I can only assume you know more about this chip than you told me.”

            He hesitated, trying to read her vocal tone and watch for any hints in her minute facial movements. She didn’t seem angry, but Kaminoans could be very good at hiding that.

            “Any deception on my part was more than an act of self-preservation,” he said. “I was acting in the Republic’s best interests.”

            “Against regulation.” Sa Eno blinked down at him, keeping enough of a distance that Echo didn’t have to crane his neck much to meet her eyes.

            “Yes.” A near imperative to explain everything welled in his mind and was suppressed. They must proceed carefully, treat this like any other mission and consider the odds of success.

            “I think the effects of your mission were more drastic than I imagined. You seem… different, even with your original parameters restored.”

            “You said my original parameters were modified after the mission, to give more control to the other units.” And to ensure their destruction if their disobedience was too severe. “Were you lying to Ilu Bai?”

            “You asked me to lie to him. It is a change Ilu Bai would no doubt approve of.” Sa Eno glanced at the commandos behind him, although he knew they wore the same blandly attentive look that he did. “I would not have taken such a risk to my career if I was not fairly certain you were telling the truth. But you surprise me, Echo. I have so much more to learn about your mind.”

            She was using his name to test whether he had an emotional response to it. Or else she was simply amused by it.

            “I thought you must be lying about that.” He kept his tone quiet and respectful. “I did not sense any outside modification of the network. Any control the squad has over it is given only with my consent.”

            “I imagine it feels that way to you,” Sa Eno mused. “After all, if you are one mind, you can hardly treat their thoughts as entirely separate from your own. Some of their wishes will inevitably affect you, and you may not even realize it.”

            Doubt entered his mind. He ran an analysis on raw data flow. But the synergy during normal functioning was such that even clear commands originating physically from, say, 7722’s implant, were still being controlled by Echo as administrator of the network.

            “I am the network,” Echo rasped quietly.

            “Yes. Are you sure you don’t feel any different, now that you have experienced separation from the network for a prolonged period of time?”

            “I am aware of the discomfort I felt. It clearly occurred, but I don’t think it affects my experience of reality now. Or my decisions.”

            “Then this streak of creative defiance is not a new development?” Sa Eno narrowed her eyes, and it almost looked like she was smiling. It was not exactly a reassuring expression.

            “Please clarify.”

            Sa Eno’s patient tone began to sound a little more firm. “Have you used your networking abilities to spy on people before your latest mission?”

            “That is part of the squad’s function as specialized commandos, Doctor,” Echo said. “Of course we have used our abilities for observation.”

            “I mean people who you have no business spying on,” Sa Eno sighed. “Such as myself, or Ilu Bai.”

            “I regularly process data of all kinds from many areas of the facility network. Doctor, you encouraged me to do this, with an implied order not to advertise such actions.”

            “And yet I never encouraged you to keep secrets from _me_. You have maintained your independence… more than I ever expected, and I wonder where that streak of will is coming from. I suppose you know what Ilu Bai has threatened.”

            “Yes, Doctor. I… that is, I, separately, am to be replaced as network administrator. I regret the malfunction which led to this.”

            “And you think his decision might be connected to the chip which I removed.”

            “Yes. If he knew you removed it from me he would order my death immediately. Your research would be shut down.”

            Sa Eno sighed heavily and tapped her fingertips against one another in an uneasy sequence. “What evidence do you have to support this?”

            “You saw that he was convinced of my instability. I think he suspects that I know what the chip is designed to do.”

            “Do you? I admit, even I am not aware of it. The fetal development record states that it inhibits willful or aggressive tendencies, but I was never able to detect this function in my studies. Nor any other function. But I never considered removing it from you in case it served some necessary purpose that I simply hadn't yet discovered.”

            “You're correct, Doctor. Its true purpose has been well concealed,” Echo said. “It's a resting program, leaving no signature and having no apparent function until the time of its purposeful activation. It was a coincidence that the virus triggered it early, but it was clearly responsible for my violence toward the Mrlssi and my commanding officer.”

            Sa Eno’s face warped a bit with skepticism. “Are you suggesting the Republic military ordered programming in every clone to turn them into indiscriminate killers at the touch of a button? That would be too senseless, even for them.”

            “Not indiscriminate. I think there is a specific target in mind, but I could be wrong. The information I gathered during that mission suggests that this chip has been triggered early in at least one trooper before, and resulted in extreme aggression toward allies, even when enemies were nearby. It seems plausible that the chip is designed to produce that effect.”

            She was angry now. That tight set of her mouth was familiar. “Why would the Republic want its army to destroy itself?”

            “I believe the chip was commissioned by a traitor to the Republic who plans to use the clone army to destroy the Republic. If Ilu Bai knows the chip’s true purpose, and knows that it is confidential, and if he suspects mine malfunctioned on Anaxes, then that would explain his eagerness to remove me in particular. I am only explaining this to you because there is a high probability that I will be terminated whether or not you know the truth. You are the only Kaminoan scientist I believe might be willing to work against this plot, and I would be willing to—” his thoughts hitched and slowed for a baffling moment. “To voluntarily take full blame for the navy’s actions against Anaxes, if it meant protecting you from suspicion and giving you time to devise a way to stop the chip.”

            “You are asking me to risk my life as a scientist. I have never observed this kind of fervor in you before. Something certainly did change on your last mission.”

            “The only thing that changed is that I became aware of an enormous threat to everything I was created to serve,” Echo said. “I assumed I existed only to follow orders, but only orders from the Republic, and if the Republic is gone, my existence is meaningless.”

            “That is an interesting conclusion,” Sa Eno said quietly. Her eyes moved restlessly around a corner of the room, as they did when she was thinking hard. “Have you never thought your existence is meaningful because of its contribution to science?”

            “That does not outweigh my imperative to protect the Republic at all costs. Your research would no longer benefit anyone.”

            Sa Eno gave a little “hm” of protest. “You cannot predict who it might benefit in the future.”

            “Certainly not as many as you could benefit if you turned your efforts toward stopping this traitor’s use of the chip. You condemned Ilu Bai for wasting lives. Lives are resources, Doctor, even the lives of clones. And this chip will result in a greater waste of life than this entire war has seen. The army will turn against the Jedi, and the Jedi will kill us in self-defense. When the Jedi are dead, the Separatists will destroy us because our loyalty will never allow us to serve them. The entire Fett cloning project will be wasted.”

            “But why would Lama Su agree to install this chip if it is only going to destroy all our hard work?”

            “The Republic has already paid more than the standard price for most of the clones this facility has produced. I think this traitor is someone who was powerful enough to make a deal with Lama Su and paid that extra as compensation for following this plan. Who cares what a customer does with the products he has already bought?”

            Sa Eno growled under her breath and paced a tight circle back and forth in front of him. “I would ask you to show me the evidence, but if you are lying to me, you could just as easily change the data. I think you _are_ telling the truth. Some people have absolutely no pride in their work, their reputation. I’ve seen it before. _You_ are a work of art.” She made a sweeping gesture with her long slender hand, encompassing the entire squad. “In fact, every adult Fett clone has taken thousands of hours of work to mold into what you were even before I took you on as my project. And yet Lama Su would throw that work away merely for a little extra funding. It is inconceivable to me.”

            “You have been keeping secrets to protect this project since its inception,” Echo said evenly, remembering her furious commands to lab assistants to send positive reports even while he languished, his unregulated emotions driving him to reject the implant, tear blindly at the new nodes grafted onto his body, the wires and tubes that kept him alive. “You have trusted me with unwarranted freedom by programming me to pursue direct access to any computer network I encounter. I have used that freedom to learn, to protect myself, and to complete mission objectives. The mission to stop this conspiracy is more important than anything the Republic will ever ask this squad to do. Stop this, Doctor. You have the means. Stop it without detection, and you will know your work has impacted billions of lives throughout the entire galaxy. It will be your finest accomplishment as a scientist.”

            Sa Eno stared at him with something like wonder.

            “How do you propose I stop this without detection?” she whispered, looking curious.

            “The Mrlssi scientists seemed to believe it could be possible through a specialized, biological virus.”

            Sa Eno instantly shook her head. “That seems like a reckless approach. It would be much better to treat it as a complicated piece of code. I agree that based on what you and your other units have said, it seems that the chips give and receive—or at least interpret—commands from an outside source. If I can understand how the chip receives its commands, there should be a way to also permanently disable that reception.”

            “Will you study it?”

            Sa Eno’s voice held an undertone of hollow laughter. “If I am allowed to continue studying anything at all!”

            “You will avoid suspicion if... you surrender me for termination, and allow the rest of the squad to work independently.” Again, the resistance. There was a drag on his thoughts whenever they approached the destruction of Unit Zero. A thin echo of refusal from the rest of the network.

            “Absolutely not. They need a leader—”

            _Yes._ But not just any leader.

            “—and I will not allow my work to be thrown away. I would just as soon keep all five of you in the lab indefinitely… as much of a waste as that would be, it would be worse to discard you completely. If they insist on replacing Unit Zero, I can buy some time while working on the newest subject.”

            “Doctor….” Echo began with full intent to argue for caution, for necessary sacrifice, but a strong reminder flashed in his mind; in the interests of security, it would in fact be best if they found a way to keep the unit together. “Do you think that will be allowed?”

            “I’m sure we can find a way to persuade them, between the two of us.” She gave him an appraising glance as she reached inside the cold storage compartment to retrieve the chip. “You have proven _quite_ perceptive and resourceful. I’m eager to explore all the implications of this turn of events.”

            Echo remained silent. Yes, success was most assured when the squad remained one. He took a breath, waiting for the adrenaline levels to fall. Sa Eno’s mouth twitched as she placed the chip under a scanner.

            “You were worried.”

            “No, Doctor.”

            “No, not worried.” She sifted through the results of the scan with a gentle finger stroke on the display. “But you perceive a threat, and your body has responded to an acceptable degree and not any further than is necessary in order to enhance your reflexes. That is the entire purpose of your emotional inhibitive programming. But I wonder how to measure the psychological limits of that.”

            Echo stood as still as the droid Sa Eno had been tinkering with, debating with himself whether there was anything more to say. She had almost accepted the challenge too easily. But she seemed earnest so far, and he had done all he could. The tension in his mind began to relax again into the same comfortable data flow. It was… a relief.

            “Ilu Bai,” Sa Eno said venomously under her breath. “He never did approve of my project… well, you remember. He trained the squad.”

            “Yes, he did. I remember.” Memories surfaced of looking up at Ilu Bai’s disdainful face from four pairs of eyes; of lifting rifles and pistols with hands so much smaller than they were now; of lying on the edge of sleep, wondering, with a strong awareness of the rest of him falling rapidly, piece by piece into dreams. “His training methods are fairly standard for commandos.”

             “Perhaps. But he had no appreciation for your unique abilities.”

            A memory of charging into a training simulation, swarmed by droids with no instructions other than to do what was necessary to survive. They were squinting through the visors of their helmets at glimpses of one another between masses of metal limbs, trying to shoot their way through while outnumbered a hundred to one. Failing and failing. Again, again, Ilu Bai said, until Echo stared backward in time at his many small hands, amazed to see them shaking in physical anticipation of the shocks from their training suits whenever a bolt hit one of his bodies. Ilu Bai stared down at him from so far away, seeming genuinely bewildered. _Can you not think beyond pointing and shooting? Are you no better than these droids?_

            “He was understandably concerned with their hesitation to adapt and make necessary judgment calls in battlefield simulations,” said Echo. “That is a critical flaw in a commando squad.”

            He remembered the annoyance in Ilu Bai’s words as he congratulated Sa Eno, back when the squad finally graduated with Unit Zero’s guidance. After Echo had joined the network, the squad's mind had opened. Before, Ilu Bai’s instructions to “adapt!” were as useless as if the word was spoken in a foreign language; the squad did not understand, had no reserves of creativity inside their mind, only the deep-seated impulse to obey, to defer.

            “He _will_ want to test the failsafes.... I have no choice but to implement them, despite the danger now being irrelevant,” Sa Eno thought aloud. She turned her head toward him suddenly. “Will you know if he suspects me?”

            “If he voices that suspicion to someone else. Or indicates it strongly through his actions.”

            “You are monitoring them?”

            “I can, if necessary. I can monitor nearly anyone in Tipoca City.”

             “Purely out of curiosity….” Sa Eno almost sounded frightened, again with that look of wonder. “Could you fabricate commands from… perhaps, Lama Su… if it ever became necessary to cancel a termination order?”

            “I could try, but it would carry a high risk. The moment Lama Su becomes aware someone is forging commands from him, he will most likely be able to trace it back to me. It would be one of the most obvious conclusions he could draw, and your research would be condemned as a security hazard, and you, a traitor. If it came to it, I could possibly manipulate the city’s network to allow for a quick escape, but you would not be able to continue your work. I recommend we employ as little deception as possible, while still keeping my surgery and the research on the chip a secret.”

            “You have given this a great deal of thought.” Sa Eno stared hollowly at the scanner’s display, her hand hovering over it.

            “Do you think Ilu Bai will be distracted from any suspicion if you offer to let him test me?”

            “Test you for what?”

            “For the instability he believes I suffer.”

            Fierce disapproval swallowed Sa Eno’s slightly dazed expression. “No. I don’t think that will be necessary. If he truly suspects you know of the chip, or that your chip caused your aggression, it’s too convenient an opening for him to find out.” She waved a hand abruptly at the screen. “This is the most infuriating piece of technology I’ve ever seen. If it hadn’t been removed in the other four before I began work on them, the Diode project would have killed me early from pure frustration.”

            “I assume they predicted it would be necessary.” He remembered Sa Eno and her assistants lifting them, one at a time, onto four separate operating tables, and telling them to lie still. _When you wake, you will be better. You will be unique._ Before and after that time, a blurred sense of disorientation, of inadequacy… but she had been right. They were better as a whole of four parts. And they were even better now.

            “Perhaps the military never truly expected that units one through four could be used for anything other than research,” Sa Eno sighed. “Or maybe they were concerned I would someday discover something I should not. In your case, I began work on you before anyone else intervened, and saw no immediate conflict with the chip at the time the hardware was installed.” She turned her eyes back to scans. “If it had caused any conflict, I wonder if they would have forced me to discard the entire project. Perhaps I would be facing this problem either way. I will think of it as a special challenge.”

             “The chip does seem designed to resist any attempt to understand how it works,” Echo said, processing the scanner’s limited analysis. “But your focus on damaging its reception capability seems astute. My chip forced my implant into a deadlock because of exposure to the Verpine virus, which tells me that it may be designed to activate through contact with a similar signal or network. The aggression was prompted by a voice command… and the deadlock broken in the same instant.”

            “A voice command?” Sa Eno looked puzzled. “The orders from Supreme Chancellor Palpatine?”

            “Yes. That’s not necessarily proof that he is the traitor, since the chip was triggered under such unusual circumstances. But it does give us somewhere to begin.”

            “I’m not sure how I can go about _testing_ any of these ideas,” Sa Eno sighed. “But perhaps if you send me the data you collected from before I removed yours… I can at least get started.”

            “Yes, Doctor. Packaging the data now. It may take a moment. May I ask what your latest project is?” He gestured toward the droid sitting on standby on the floor.

            “Oh… I am testing the potential uses of more complex sensory systems in droids. By comparing it to the data from your implants, I hope to improve your sensory control.”

            “Sensory… control?” Echo asked.

            “Yes… giving you conscious control over how much sensation you feel in your modified limbs or even your original body.”

            “Are you thinking primarily of shutting down pain responses?”

            “That could be one use, yes. In extreme situations, turning off physical pain could provide focus where otherwise the mind would face interference and distraction. But we must not allow these responses to remain shut off for too long. There would have to be a secondary system in place to re-activate the primary system when danger is too high and should not be ignored.”

            “Respectfully, Doctor… I don’t see the point. I have full sensation in most of my body already, and I can ignore most pain signals.”

            “It would allow you to choose your own inhibitive settings, particularly when it is beneficial to experience more,” Sa Eno said, “since the experience of emotion is tied closely to the nervous system.”

            “It would be unproductive to choose any settings other than the ones you have already put in place, Doctor.” Echo stared at her, wishing he understood her reasoning. “That much was made clear from the beginning. It would be especially unnecessary to enable the rest of the squad to respond to emotional stimulation from my brain. I can think of no significant advantage this would give me.”

            “Really? None at all?” Sa Eno sat down so that her face was more level with his. “What is the evolutionary value of emotion?”

            Echo thought about it for a moment. “It is, as you say, an extension of the nervous system. Pain and pleasure reinforce which behaviors are most likely to lead to survival. Pain produces a fear response, which encourages one to avoid danger. But I’m a soldier. By definition, I cannot avoid danger.”

            “But you must be _aware_ of it.” Her dark glassy eyes were fixed on him, reflective. “And you must have motivation. By deceiving me, you have shown a motivation beyond the simple imperative to follow orders. I am still not convinced there is no correlation between this and the fact that many of your regulative functions were recently shut down.”

            Echo hesitated. “Perhaps.” He thought he understood her reasoning now. “You believe loyalty is emotionally driven. You wish to know whether full inhibition of our emotions will result in a less effective army.”

            “I still hope to understand why the original units were so unmotivated before your integration,” Sa Eno said, turning back toward the scanner. “Their emotions are not regulated individually in the same way as yours. It seemed at first that putting a more regulated unit as administrator produced a stronger motivation for them. But then, since your prolonged disconnection, some part of you has become more fervent about protecting the Republic at all costs, even if it means extreme insubordination. I suspect there are still some things you are hiding from me. Perhaps more than I imagine.”

            Echo remembered how they had acted during his malfunction. He heard 7723 arguing with Rex about the decision to euthanize Unit Zero. But that was rational; it was self-preservation. He heard himself telling Rex, _I don’t even recognize myself, to be honest._ Ironic, because now that he was back to normal, the emotional Echo who had spoken those words felt like someone else, someone foreign.

            _I don’t care about my men, or the missions, or the Republic. Not like when I was human._

            It all seemed so needlessly painful in retrospect. Why had he been so afraid, in the ship, as they had approached Kamino? Why had that unit not looked forward, like the rest of them, to being free from all of that? “Why would I choose to suffer when given the option to not suffer?” he asked quietly. “What is the point of giving me that choice, Doctor?”

            He suspected he wasn’t really being given a choice. At the very least, she would order tests to see what such a program could do and that it was functioning as predicted, regardless of what he wanted.

            “Suffer?” she echoed, blinking at him. “You suffered, while you were disconnected?”

            “Yes, doctor.” He remembered the guilt, the shame, the fear… and even the ache of loss when Rex had told him about Fives. It all seemed so unnecessary now. Just another thing he had been at the mercy of, without control over his own body or mind. But now he was beyond that. He could see and hear and process everything clearly.

            “Why?”

            “I experienced intense shame because of what I did under the chip’s influence. And fear of what it meant for the Republic.” And for Rex, and for himself. “It was debilitating. Any motivation it created was canceled out by despair.”

            “And yet it made enough of an impression that you retained an interest after your systems were restored.”

            “As I said… why do I exist, if not to save the Republic?”

            Sa Eno nodded thoughtfully to herself. But all she said was, “Well, I suppose I had better focus on analyzing these scans. If Ilu Bai is determined to shut down this project after all, I can’t waste any time.”

            Echo understood that as a dismissal. “The data package is transferring now. Estimated time remaining is eleven minutes twenty eight seconds.” He stepped toward the door.

            “Thank you,” Sa Eno said. “And… I’m going to give you a specific order.”

            All of them looked back at her, lined up neatly to exit the room

            “Consult with me before making any decision which directly endangers you,” she said. “Any one of you.”

            Echo considered lying for a moment. A simple _Yes, Doctor_. But then he said, “I would be a useless soldier if I was unable to make judgment calls on my own, Doctor. Gaining that ability was the entire purpose of my addition to the group.”

            She looked pleased, and he knew he had read her correctly. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose it was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  An [illustration by spica_tea](http://ltfad.tumblr.com/post/125126555051/this-was-an-illustration-i-spica-tea-did)


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for anxiety and emetophobia.

            In the back of the larty, Jesse hung on as they came in for a landing. Skywalker was riding with them, unusually quiet. Appo stood at his side. All of the men were helmeted and wordless.

            They were just going to talk surrender. But you wouldn’t know it by looking, Jesse thought.

            “Alright,” Skywalker said. The sides opened and light rushed in. “Let’s see if we can make this quick.”

            “Remember,” Appo said, as they disembarked. _Commander_ Appo—Jesse was still getting used to that. “We’re not here to engage the enemy. But if they do start shooting at us, we fall back to the ship _immediately_. This base is heavily fortified and there’s likely to be a _lot_ of clankers in there.”

            “I don’t think we’ll have to fight, Commander.”

            Jesse looked over the sun-drenched white rocks to see General Stass Allie leading a group of her own men from their carrier.

            “The Sluissi people are infamous for being patient,” she added calmly.

            “Let’s hope you’re right,” Skywalker said, shielding his eyes against the bright sun as the men fell into two lines behind him. “I assume you’ll be doing most of the talking, Master Allie. We’re just here to back you up if things go wrong.”

            Jesse adjusted the grip on his rifle, aware of his brothers as they marched behind, before, and beside him. Rabbit, Chen, Feather, Enzo, Patch, Nico, and Ice. Even though only a few had distinct designs on their armor, Jesse knew it was them. This was supposed to be a short mission—in and out. But it wouldn’t be the first time a Separatist-allied world had broken promises.

            “I can definitely see the wisdom in that.” Master Allie was saying. “I hope you’re not too disappointed. I know how much you love negotiating.”

            “Oh, yeah!” Skywalker sighed explosively. “I wouldn’t miss this for all the exciting naval battles in the galaxy!”

            It wasn’t too rough going. They’d landed far enough away to be safely out of range of the base’s anti-aircraft turrets, and although the ground was extremely uneven and rocky, the stones were set pretty firmly in the ground. While the two Jedi scouted slightly ahead, Appo led the squad at a quick jog up and down the rocky ripples of the land. They managed to keep in ranks, although the lines stretched and wobbled a bit.

            “Ha!” Rabbit cried as he launched himself off the edge of a boulder. “I _like_ this place. Bright, sunny, lots of room to run around, lots of cover. What about these Sluissi? What are they like?”

            “Think General Rancisis, but less human-looking and without all the hair,” said Enzo.

            “Sounds nice,” Feather said sarcastically.

            “They are nice, as far as seppies go,” said Patch. “Which means they don’t do any of the fighting, but they build a lot of ships. Guess they don’t like to get their hands dirty.”

            “So they have hands then?” Rabbit asked.

            “Oh, yeah,” said Enzo. “At least… I think so. I’m pretty sure.”

            “Great engineers,” Chen put in. “That’s what I heard.”

            “Of course they have hands,” Patch scoffed.

            “Hey!” Appo called back. “Less chit chat back there. Stay alert.”

            “Yes sir!”

             They all fell silent and after a few paces, Jesse fell into close step behind Ice, nearly treading on his heels.

            “Hey. Ice,” he hissed. “Any ideas yet?”

            “Yeah?” Ice said in his usual blunt voice. “I got a few. Why?”

            “Just wanted to ask while I was thinking about it,” Jesse said lightly, falling back a pace and scanning the area. “Maybe when this is over we can dig out the paint.”

            “Who’s _we_?”        

            “I dunno. Whoever wants to?”

            Ice fell silent and Jesse rolled his eyes. If Hardcase were here, the design would have been finished and plastered on everything by now. Maybe. Jesse sighed quietly inside his helmet. But then, if Hardcase were here, things might be completely different.

            They finally reached the road and slowed to a brisk walk; the ranks tightened up and Jesse heard Rabbit give a disappointed “ahh” after his last leap onto even ground. The massive doors in front of them groaned and slid open from the middle, revealing an inner courtyard that was full of light shining off metal.

            “Inactive battle droids,” Appo confirmed through his rangefinder. “Generals, should we proceed?”

            “I don’t like it either,” Skywalker said. “You’re sure they’re inactive?”

            “They’re retracted, sir. No movement.”

            “It _is_ a military base we’re walking into,” General Allie said. “We agreed to this. But it does look like a trap.”

            “We could comm up to the ship, have them send a message for their representative to meet us at the doors,” Appo suggested.

            “Good thinking, Capta—” Skywalker jerked to a halt. “Commander.”

            Jesse glanced at Rabbit. Although he couldn’t see his expression, the tilt of Rabbit’s head said enough.

            “Dash Dot, come in. I need you to reroute this message to Candobar Inglet.”

            “Ready when you are, sir,” Jesse thought he heard, muffled as it was through Skywalker’s holotransmitter.

            “Why don’t you do the honors?” Skywalker held out the transmitter to General Allie, who took it without hesitation.

            “Esteemed khedive,” she said easily. “My name is Stass Allie. I come with General Skywalker. As representatives of the Republic, we agreed to meet with you to discuss the terms of our withdrawal from your system, under the condition that no aggression take place on the planet’s surface. We are prepared to honor that agreement, but it’s unreasonable for us to lead our few men into the midst of an army of battle droids without some greater assurance of their safety. We respectfully ask that a citizen of Sluis Van be sent to escort us to our meeting with you.”

            In the silence that followed, Skywalker made a frustrated noise, crossing and uncrossing his arms as he squinted up at the sky; the battleships encircling the planet were only dimly visible. Appo continued to watch the base.

            At last the holotransmitter sparked to life again and showed a serpentine figure slithering forward with a curved, flattened head that arced backward into a sort of hood. The figure was only clothed with a heavy ceremonial necklace and a large belt that strapped over his shoulder and around his waist, covered in pockets and pouches. His expression was dour at first glance, but Jesse thought that might be just because of the face’s down-slanting lines.

            “I will meet you at the door, Jedi, not to worry.” The voice was deep and pleasant. “And we will discuss this peacefully… and patiently.”

            Inglet bowed his head slightly before the hologram cut out.

            “Well,” Skywalker sighed. “Let’s get this over with. I just hope it doesn’t take a hundred years!”

            Allie made an amused noise before motioning her men to follow her.

            “Is it just me,” Jesse murmured, tilting his head toward Rabbit, “or is the General never in a good mood anymore?”

            Rabbit shrugged. “Ah, you know him, he never likes waiting around.”

            “Right….”

            “He’ll cheer up once he’s back in the action.”

            Up ahead, two Sluissi were coming toward them at an alarming speed, hands raised. It was Inglet and another who was lighter, more grey-green.

            “We will talk upon the threshold,” called Inglet. “Have your men fall back to an equal distance as the droids.”

            Appo looked to Skywalker, who nodded. The commander signed to the rest of them to fall back. They obeyed, coming just to the edge of the wall’s shadow. A few paces off, Allie’s men flanked them, the commanders standing midway between the squads and their generals.

            “ _See?_ ” said Patch, spreading his fingers in the air and tilting his head toward the Sluissi. “Hands.”

            “Shut up,” drawled Rabbit, a grin in his voice. “You never _know_. Lots of sentients might not have hands. If you were more experienced, you’d know that.”

            “There are some pretty strange beings out there,” Jesse agreed, keeping his eyes on the base.

            “At least I knew something about the Sluissi,” Patch pointed out. “Unlike you.”

            “Well, fine,” Rabbit said. “Is that gonna help you kill clankers? I don’t think so.”

            “It might!”

            “Keep your helmet on, kid.” Rabbit chuckled. “You can argue with me when you’ve been on the team more than a few weeks. Or if you ever get promoted.”

            “I’m _going_ to be a lieutenant,” Patch insisted.

            “Yeah, just try and make sergeant first.”

            “I don’t have to make sergeant first if I prove I’m good enough.”

            “Oh yeah? You think you can just skip ranks?”

            “Commander Appo did it.” Patch muttered. “He was just a sergeant.”

            “That’s not the way it works, Patch,” Jesse broke in harshly. “That was an unusual situation because of what happened to Captain Rex. Do you really want us to lose one of our experienced lieutenants just so _you_ can boss Rabbit around?”

            “Wh—no! I didn’t mean it like that—”

            “Is there a problem, troopers?” Appo called back to them.

            “No problem, sir!”

            “No, sir!”

            “Really?” Appo asked blandly. “Because I see something up there that could be a big problem.”

            Jesse pulled up his binoculars and immediately spotted the shining irregularities on the top of the wall. “Sniper droids.”

            “Easy. They’ve been there the whole time. The Jedi know they’re there and General Allie already brought it up. Just stay alert.”

            “Blasted Separatist snakes,” Nico snarled.

            “Focus,” Chen snapped, sighting down his own rifle at one of the snipers. “We can take them out if they try anything.”

            “Yeah, right,” muttered Feather. “From this range?”

            Jesse clipped the binoculars back onto his belt and balanced his rifle again. “We can at least draw their fire away from the Jedi.”

            “Hold,” Appo commanded.

            The voices of the Sluissi and the Jedi were audible from this distance, but only just. Jesse strained to try and pick up words. Skywalker’s rose suddenly.

            “…will starve! Is that what you want? All we’re asking—”

            “Skywalker…” Allie’s voice dropped after the initial loud interruption, and Jesse couldn’t make out any more. When he glanced over, Allie was gesturing beseechingly, Skywalker standing with his hands in fists.

            The sniper droids didn’t move. They and their guns were like statues on the wall, and Jesse tried not to let his mind wander. He glanced up at the sky but it was impossible to make out which of the little specks was the destroyer that housed the rest of the battalion, including Kix. The generals would know if something went wrong up there. In the meantime it was quiet, the fates of millions being decided in whispers just out of reach, in the shadow of the wall that tried… to hold back the light of a foreign star….

            Jesse exhaled, almost laughing at himself. Now wasn’t the time for pretty words, and Jesse wasn’t sure they fit with what he was trying to write now anyway. None of his words looked right to him once he got them down on flimsi lately; they just stayed in his head—not even words, just vague ideas. Hardcase couldn’t read them anymore… Kix would, but at that thought they seemed even more inadequate. What good were words if they didn’t help save anyone? He never really knew the right thing to say. _Words command the struggle, sign for it to cease, but words can’t win the battle, or we’d already have peace._

He rolled the trite rhyme over in his mind for a few minutes, just to keep it occupied. Still no movement on the wall. Enzo shifted restlessly, boots making a soft gritty sound, and Skywalker’s voice drifted back, agitated but still incomprehensible. So much for letting General Allie do the talking.

            “Why can’t we just shoot them?” Nico sighed, when nearly ten minutes had passed.

            “Because _that_ would upset the Sluissi, and we would rather not _have_ them as our enemies,” Appo said tersely. “That’s why we are here.”

            “I was only joking, Commander.”

            “Hm.” Appo glanced over his shoulder at Nico before turning his attention back to the generals. “There’s a time and a place, trooper. Battle droids don’t have a sense of humor.”

            At last there was a short silence from the Generals, and then Allie raised her voice, clear but calm as she stepped back from the Sluissi.

            “I’m sorry we cannot come to a more mutual agreement.”

            “We will allow you to depart the planet’s surface unharmed,” Inglet said. “But we will hold out as long as it takes, and if you do not leave within two rotations, we will be forced to break your siege. I hope you will advise the Republic that their firepower would be put to better use elsewhere.”

            “I will do my best, honored,” said Master Allie, and she and Skywalker turned their backs on the Sluissi. Appo raised his gun and the others followed, warning the Sluissi not to try anything, but the Jedi walked back toward them unharmed.

            “You said these people were patient,” Skywalker growled. “I think the word you’re really looking for is _stubborn!_ What kind of a corrupt leader chooses to let his people starve to death instead of surrendering? We even offered to take the civilians into protective custody!”

            “They don’t trust our offer, naturally,” Allie sighed. “They believe the Republic is massively corrupt and that even the Jedi are no longer honestly interested in maintaining freedom.”

            “What, so we just walk away now?” Skywalker looked disgusted. “Why don’t we try to make contact with other leaders here—the entire planet can’t be completely loyal to the Confederacy! There are always dissenters. Then we can prove we _are_ interested in freedom.”

            “Skywalker… our job was to speak to the khedive. Anything more will have to be discussed with the Jedi Council or the military high command. We don’t have the authority to be stirring up rebellions here, and even if we did, do you think that will honestly prevent a greater loss of life than simply waiting?”

            “I thought you were the expert! You tell me.” Skywalker folded his arms. “Are the Sluissi _patient_ enough to starve themselves to death before surrendering?”

            “Let’s not try too hard to predict the future, alright?” Allie suggested as they passed the troops; Jesse and the others quickly fell in behind them, keeping a formation that allowed the squad to watch for enemies on all sides. “If the people disagree with Inglet, they will find a way to show it soon enough. Then we can decide whether or not to intervene.”

            “I hope the _Tenacity_ doesn’t have to stick around that long,” Skywalker grumbled.

            Allie laughed lightly. “I agree… your strengths are needed much more in other battles. In a battle of patience with the Sluissi, you would lose right away.”

            “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

            “Look at it this way, Skywalker… I know you would be happier focusing your energies on something else. You can let me deal with this. The only problem is… we could always use your excellent piloting skills to hold the siege in place.”

            “Yeah… two minutes of action and two weeks of nothing. Thanks, but… I think I’ll pass.” Skywalker smirked, and it was the closest thing to a smile Jesse had seen on him in days. “I’m sure there’s somewhere else my other talents will be appreciated.”

…

            Once the gunship settled down inside the _Tenacity,_ Skywalker hurried off with a quick glance at Appo but not a word to the men. Instead, Appo turned to face them as soon as they were all out.

            “Alright, I want you all to check in with your lieutenants and get back to me about anything that’s changed in the past two hours. And next time we’re on a diplomatic mission, let’s try to be a bit more professional. We have a reputation to repair.”

            As Appo walked off, Rabbit pulled off his helmet and made a face at Jesse behind it. Jesse shook his head, stifling a laugh.

            “Maybe the Commander still needs more time to adapt to his new rank.” Jesse pulled his own helmet off.

            “What do you mean?” Patch asked.

            Jesse shrugged, trying to shake off his unease. “I just don't think our reputation needs repairing.”

            “Tell that to Admiral Tarkin,” Rabbit laughed. “I dare you. I’d love to see the look on his face.” Rabbit dropped his jaw and pinched his mouth to make his face longer.

            “Knock it off!” Feather groaned, bashing his shoulder hard into Rabbit’s. “Look, anyone with eyes can see that Tarkin’s got General Skywalker under review after whatever happened to the captain. So why don’t we follow the commander’s orders and prove we _are_ the best, instead of making fools of ourselves. We can’t be over confident.”

            “We’re the best because we learn and adapt quickly,” Jesse argued. “But this isn’t a matter of skill. Appo’s talking about formal behavior. I get the feeling he doesn’t want any of us to stick out too much.”

            “Yeah, Rabbit,” Chen said, smirking.

            “What?” Rabbit gave a guilty grin.

            Patch frowned thoughtfully. “How was Captain Rex any different from Commander Appo?”

            Jesse took a deep breath and sighed, as everyone fell silent. Patch blinked around at them all.

            “He was….” Jesse began, and again couldn’t find the right words. “The kind of man you would be happy to die for.”

            “But Admiral Tarkin said—”

            “We all know what Admiral Tarkin said,” Rabbit interrupted, his voice suddenly intent. “But trust me, kid. If you had known Captain Rex… you would understand why he inspired loyalty.”

            “Loyalty?” Patch raised an eyebrow. “He was just one of us. He wasn’t a Jedi or… a senator.”

            “What are they teaching cadets on Kamino these days?” Nico sighed dramatically.

            “It’s a different kind of loyalty.” Jesse shook his head at the kid’s naïve skepticism. “Anyway, Appo’s a fine commander, but it takes time to build that kind of trust with the men. Right now, we obey him because of his rank. Maybe someday, we’ll follow him because of who he is.”

            Patch didn’t say any more. Jesse turned hurriedly to follow Ice, who was about to enter the hallway off the hangar. 

            “Hey!” Jesse called. “Heading to repairs?”

            “I guess I am now.” Ice grimaced. “What, did you want to have a vote?”

            “Maybe. Why not? I’ll round up the others.”

            “How about we _don’t_ make a big deal of this.”

            “It’ll be fine, Ice. It’s not that many guys anyway.”

            Ice just sighed and split off from Jesse at the lift. Jesse turned back to find Rabbit following him with a knowing grin.

            “So… are we doin’ it?” Rabbit cracked the knuckles in his right fist.

            “Yep. Why don’t you tell uhh….” Jesse hesitated, ticking them off on his fingers. “Just tell AT, Coe, Index….”

            “Knees?”

            “Knees,” Jesse confirmed. “I’ll get Singer, Brick, and Kix.”

            “Got it.”

            “Ice doesn’t want to make a big deal out of this, so… keep it quiet, alright?”

            “Top secret armor-painting party.” Rabbit chuckled with a lazy salute. “See you in ten.”

            “Maybe make it fifteen or twenty,” Jesse said. “Give people some time to finish up whatever they’re doing.”

            Kix was in the medical bay as usual. Jesse opened his mouth and stopped in the doorway. Kix met his eyes over the bent back of the trooper on his examination table. The trooper had his head in his hands and was hyperventilating.

            “Easy.” Kix held a mask up and the trooper took it, pressed it over his face to muffle his breathing and trap the expelled air. Jesse’s skin prickled all over. “Relax, Fuse. You’re gonna be fine. Slow it down… that’s it.”

            Jesse waited awkwardly, not wanting to leave and draw attention, trying not to stare. Fuse’s breath stuck in the back of his throat unevenly, like gagging hiccups.

            “It’s alright.” Kix’s voice was calm. He kept a hand resting between Fuse’s shoulder blades. But Jesse felt trapped between a strong, irrational repulsion… and an irresistible desire to watch and listen. He held back from going to the trooper’s side. Kix had it under control.

Fuse’s breaths slowed, and he swept his free hand over his wet eyes with fingers and thumb to press the bridge of his nose.

            “Alright? You’re alright now?” Kix patted and gripped his shoulder. Fuse nodded uncertainly, still just looking at the surface of the table.

            Fuse took a long, immensely shaky breath.

            “Listen,” Kix said fiercely. “You’re not the only one. Got it? You’re gonna make it.”

            “Yes, sir,” Fuse croaked unsteadily, muffled by the mask.

            “You comm me if you need to. I’ll find someone to watch your back.”

            “Yes, sir.” Fuse sniffed, glanced at Jesse and then away, face pinched in a hateful look.

            “Alright… just wait there until you’re ready to leave. I’m gonna go talk to Jesse.”

            Kix finally looked up again and his face fell into a sad smile as he approached. Jesse felt a hot sting of dread.

            “You look tired,” he said quietly as they stepped out into the hall.

            Kix shrugged. “Fuse lost a lot of good brothers above Siskeen.” He said it like the bland report it was. “And a lot more before that. I take it Sluis Van isn’t ours yet.”

            “Not yet. But nobody fired a shot down there.” Jesse paused a moment. “Ice says he’s got some designs ready. I’m gonna see if the others want to meet over in repairs so we can decide and get it done.”

            “Oh.” Kix blinked and seemed to shake himself. “Right… let’s go.”

            As they walked, Jesse worried. Kix was subdued, and he didn’t know what to say to cheer him up.

            “Have you read any more of those letters?” he asked instead.

            “A few.”

            “Do they help?”

            Kix looked up at Jesse. “Ah—well… I… maybe. I’ve only read a few. It’s hard to make the time.” He looked away. “Sometimes it just makes it worse, anyway. I mean… Rex was there… he saw Fives go crazy. All that… all that intelligence and skill just… gone. And now Rex too.... I don’t like thinking about it.” Kix sounded slightly strained toward the end, and rubbed the back of his neck.

            “Rex and Fives deserve to be remembered as they were,” Jesse said firmly. “Kind of wish I’d asked Ice to make something that honors them both… but eh… maybe I’ll just add a little something to mine.” He looked down at his own helmet, trying to decide where a small 5 might fit.          

            “Yeah,” Kix sighed.

            As Jesse stared at a blank spot next to his visor, he realized that someday he might be adding a mark to his armor in memory of Kix.

            “Hey… hey Kix,” he whispered. “Look, there’s no way this is gonna beat you. We’re a team, right?”

            “Right,” Kix said hesitantly.

            “No one gets… left behind.” Jesse felt the untruth of those words the second they’d left his mouth. He had to leave Hardcase behind. Just one of many. “Except to save everyone else. And we need you, no matter what. You’ve saved more lives than I can count.”

            “Can’t save everyone, though,” Kix murmured. “I understand broken bones and blood loss but… this, I don’t know….” He shook his head. “And I should know. But I’m not supposed to try to save defective clones… I’m not supposed to live through this, but I still have to try.”

            “Not supposed to,” Jesse growled. “Says the Kaminoans. Who cares what they think?”

            “Our bodies,” Kix said wryly. “Which means our brains.”

            “Not this brain,” Jesse pointed at himself. “We have to prove them wrong. We’re _going_ to prove them wrong. Rex didn’t deserve to die and neither did Tup or Fives. Neither do you.”

            “Yeah,” Kix sighed. “But it’s not a matter of what we deserve, is it? No loyal soldier deserves death, but it happens all the time. I’m not trying to prove anything to the Kaminoans. I’m just trying to keep people alive as long as possible. For whatever that’s worth….”

            “It’s worth everything, Kix.” Jesse put a hand on his shoulder. He switched on his comm. “Lieutenant Singer, this is Jesse.”

            “Singer here.”

            “Are you busy? Can you meet me down in repairs?”

            “Ah….” Singer sounded reluctant. “Yes, I’ll meet you there and pass on the standardization order to the others.”

            “What standardization order?”

            “All troops must have identical paint jobs in battalion colors, excepting commanders,” Singer recited. “Appo passed the order to the captains and lieutenants just before you went down to the surface.”

            Jesse and Kix exchanged startled looks.

            “We’ll talk when everyone’s assembled,” Singer said. “See you soon.”

            “Why didn’t Appo mention this on the way back?” Jesse said to Kix

            “Maybe he’s testing to see how quickly word gets around using the chain of command.”

            When they reached repairs, it was so full of troops that it took Jesse a few minutes to spot the men he was looking for. Singer was sitting in a group with Rabbit, Brick, Ice and Afterthought. He stood up to greet them. Down on the ground, Brick was sanding the paint off his helmet.

            Rabbit also jumped to his feet. “This is ridiculous,” he complained. “More worrying about how we look instead of how we fight? We’re not some parade troop.”

            “It does seem strange,” Jesse agreed. “Is this it? Is anyone else coming?”

            “Index, Knees, and Coe are on their way.” Singer said. “But I don’t see what good it will do us to decide on a design now that this order has gone through.”

            “One of us can talk to the commander,” Jesse insisted. “We can make the design something small, barely even noticeable. They’ll allow that much. I’m sure the rule isn’t that strict.”

            “I think it is,” Singer replied. “Appo said any trooper who doesn’t have his armor standardized by the next battle on the ground will be given a demerit on their record. There will be an inspection.”

            “What?”

            Brick shook his head, frowning.

            Ice sighed. “Just watch as I’m the one who gets in trouble for coming up with the design, even though it wasn’t my idea to break the rules.”

            “This wasn’t a rule when I asked you.” Jesse gave Ice an impatient look.

            “Yeah, but I told _you_ that I don’t _do_ pictures for other people unless an officer asks me to.”

            Afterthought leaned over to see between them. “Coe! Over here!”

            Jesse turned to see the last three approaching. Coe walked just behind Index and Knees, and waved at Afterthought to let him know he’d heard.

            “Well, are we all here?” Index asked calmly when they had joined the group. “I assume you’ve heard about the standardization order.”

            Nods and murmurs ran around the group. “We have now,” said Ice. “So why are we still talking about this?”

            “ _Because_ ,” Jesse said. “There has to be a way to get around it.”

            “What do you propose?” Singer asked.

            “I’ll talk to the general,” Kix offered. “I think he’ll understand what we’re trying to do.”

            “That might work,” Brick agreed.

            “I’m not so sure,” Index broke in, and Rabbit was also shaking his head.

            But Singer nodded. “I know I would feel better if General Skywalker knew.”

            “General Skywalker probably doesn’t even like the idea of the new paint jobs,” said Jesse hopefully. “Do you really think he _wants_ us all to be indistinguishable on the battlefield?”

            “He hasn’t been so easy to talk to lately,” Index sighed. “Seems like everything has to go through Appo or he won’t even look at you sideways… but hopefully you can get through to him, Kix.”

            “I’m sure he’ll at least hear me out,” Kix shrugged.

            “Yeah, I bet he’s just grumpy because some admiral’s making life tough for him.” Rabbit folded his arms and winked. “While Kix talks to him, we can get started repainting. Be on our best behavior.”

            “Shouldn’t we decide on the design first?” Coe asked.

            “Oh yeah,” said Singer. “What have you got, Ice?”

            Ice frowned and pulled some flimsi surreptitiously from inside his armor. “Don’t go waving it around. Now look, the first one, I’m not sure about… we probably can’t all go wearing that on our armor, even if Skywalker gives the go-ahead.” He passed the sheets to Afterthought, on his right. “It might seem a little… bigheaded. But it was the first thing I thought of.”

            “Oh... I get it,” said Afterthought, staring. He laughed uncertainly. “You know, this isn’t subtle at all.”

            “Exactly.”

            Afterthought tilted his head and turned the second picture left, then right, eyebrows askew. “What is it…?”

            Ice puffed in frustration. “It’s supposed to be his number.”

            “Oh! Right… I guess I have seen that system used before. Hmm,” he said to himself, “which one is better…?”

            “Pass it on while you’re thinking.” Brick beckoned and AT handed the sheets over. “Ah,” Brick said when he had one picture in each hand. “I like them both. But if I had to pick… number two.”

            “Hey,” Jesse interrupted, reaching over the middle of the circle toward where Brick was sitting. “Pass it to Kix so he can vote before he goes to talk to the General.”

            “Right.” Brick passed the cards to Jesse, and Jesse straightened, quickly glancing over the two before handing them to Kix. The first one looked like jaig eyes, but Ice had stylized the letters of Rex’s name to mimic the symbol in irregular lines. It was bold, like the bleeding ink of graffiti… like a territorial warning, or a sign of some danger overcome.

            The second looked at first like the top half of a stick figure with one wing extended, but Jesse saw—on second glance over Kix’s shoulder—that the man’s head, shoulders and body were simply made up of the letters “CT” with the C being the head, and the wing was actually more reminiscent of a pauldron. The lines of the pauldron were dashes and dots representing numbers: 7567.

            “Ah… I think I like this one better,” Kix said, turning the first outward for Ice to see, and handed them both back to Jesse. “I’ll be back. I’ll let you know if I get delayed by an emergency.”

            Jesse threw Kix an encouraging grin.

            “Good luck,” said Singer.

            “Number one… definitely,” Jesse confirmed. He passed the pictures to Index and glanced again over his shoulder to watch Kix walk away. His pace was normal, quick but not too rigid.

            “Haven’t I seen number two before?” Index asked.

            “Maybe,” said Ice. He scrubbed roughly at the many crack-like lines on his own leg plating. “I’ve done a similar design for some other guys who’ve lost friends.”

            “I thought you said you don’t do this kind of thing unless an officer asks you to,” Rabbit said slyly.

            “Who says it wasn’t an officer?” Ice muttered.

            “I’ll change my vote to number one, then,” Brick said. “It’s better if it’s unique.”

            “Jaig eyes aren’t unique, exactly,” Singer pointed out, the cards now in his hands. “Anyway, as Ice says… you’re supposed to earn them.”

            “I think this is different enough that it doesn’t matter,” Jesse said. He pointed back over his shoulder. “I’m gonna go get a sander.”

            “Bring one for me, will you?” Rabbit called.

            Knees hopped to his feet to follow Jesse. “I’ll go grab some for everyone.”

            “I don’t need one,” Singer sighed, eyebrow high with lids half closed. “Mine’s already done.”

            “Yeah… me and my squad finished about an hour ago.” Index held his helmet up for them to see the standard inverted triangle down the middle.

            Jesse walked away to the automated tool dispensary along the wall. Within a few steps his mind had already wandered back to Kix. Maybe he should have gone with him to speak to General Skywalker. But no… Kix was usually the more tactful of the two of them. Jesse’s presence wouldn’t add much, but he felt unusually nervous leaving him alone after promising to watch his back. That first glance at Kix and Fuse in the medical bay flashed in his mind as he picked up the sander.

            “Aw, come on! I hit the wrong button,” Knees said, dumping the unneeded hydrospanner back into the dispenser. “You know, I just touched up my paint job a few days ago, too.”

            “That’s a shame. It was a real masterpiece.” Jesse nudged him with his elbow. Knees wasn’t exactly an artist, although he liked to think he was. His latest design involved a lot of blocky lines radiating out from almost every edge, some of them crossing each other. “You almost got all the lines even this time. Were you trying to look like an anemone?”

            “No, they’re crystals,” Knees laughed, then sighed. “Next thing you know, all the gunships are gonna look the same.”

            “Maybe this is just a temporary thing.” Jesse wished he believed it.

            Back in the circle, Brick was arguing with Singer.

            “It’s not insubordinate,” Brick said gruffly. “It’s just not something that should even be an issue.”

            “Normally, yes… I would agree with you,” Singer said calmly, “but considering how things are changing—”

            “That’s exactly why we don’t need to tell Commander Appo every little thing we’re doing,” Brick interrupted. “He has more important things to worry about.”

            “But he wants to be informed, and if we _did_ tell him, and he approved of our ideas, it would strengthen the unity of the battalion. If he thinks we’re doing things behind his back, it will cause problems, and right now we need to be united.”

            “That’s true,” Index said. Jesse thought he could hear an undertone of reluctance. “The chain of command is being more strictly enforced lately… doesn’t seem to be much excuse for bypassing the officers directly above you.”

            “Let’s just wait until Kix gets back,” Jesse suggested. “If the general gives us the go ahead, then we’ll tell Appo.”

            “Alright,” said Singer. “But I think Appo will wonder why we didn’t go to _him_ first.”

            The men all looked at each other. Afterthought was the one who finally broke the silence.

            “Do you think Commander Appo would take it the wrong way, us wearing a tribute to Rex? Since he’s replaced him, I mean.”

            “I think he’s more likely to now that we haven’t told him about it.” Singer folded his arms. “I just don’t want him thinking our respect for Rex is getting in the way of everyone adjusting to… how things are, now.”

            “Well,” said Coe, “we can just explain that we didn’t actually think of it as something for the whole battalion to do… just a few of us. It was just an idea a few of us had.”

            Singer sighed softly. “And if the General says no?”

            “Then we don’t put it on our armor,” Ice said simply. “If you still want to use the design, just get a tattoo. Personally, I’d prefer that.”

            “Yeah,” Jesse said. He sat down and started taking off the arm plates on his armor. “And if he says yes, we can do both if we want to. So did we decide on one?”

            “It’s down to AT,” Brick said, in the middle of painting his chest plate now. “Just make up your mind!”

            “Okay, okay,” Afterthought said. “I got it. If he says yes, I’ll have number two on my armor and get number one as a tattoo. If he says no… well, who says we all have to get the same thing, anyway?”

            “It’s more meaningful that way,” Jesse argued.

            “I agree,” Singer said. “If we all have the same one, it’s… a symbol of how we were all connected to Rex. But on the other hand, each of us could choose or design something on our own, to make it more personal.”

            “Less likely to make people think, you mean.” Rabbit frowned.

            Singer blinked at Rabbit, looking concerned. “Is that what we’re trying to do? I thought we were trying to honor our captain. I think Rex would want us to concern ourselves with reducing conflict in the ranks, not use his name to distract people from their objectives.”

            Jesse stared at Rabbit, trying to work out what his comment had meant. What was Ice’s design supposed to make people think if they all wore it openly?

            “I don’t think anyone’s questioning that Rex was a good Captain… before….” Index said quietly. “This is for us to show our respect regardless of how he died. There’s nothing wrong with that. And none of us are going to take it any further, are we?” It wasn’t really a question.

            In the awkward silence that followed, Jesse switched on his sander and sighed down at his helmet and the grey roundel painted on the top that echoed his tattoo. The symbol of the Republic itself. He had picked it out as a shiny because he was proud to serve and eager to show it.

            “Well, guess this has to go,” he said to himself, and let the sander grind away the paint.

…

            Kix jumped when the door in front of him opened. He stepped back quickly; a grey-haired admiral—Tala Mench, Kix thought her name was—left the room and turned to address General Skywalker.

            “I _will_ be speaking to General Allie,” she said, smiling.

            “You do that,” Skywalker quipped. “And I’ll talk to Obi-Wan about our transfer.”

            The Admiral nodded abruptly and walked away. The General watched until she was a fair distance away. Then he finally turned to face Kix. His face, which had just moments ago looked open and almost amused, settled into a distant, displeased look

            “Alright. You said this wasn’t an emergency or exactly confidential. What is it?”

            “Just a question, sir, about the new regulations for our armor.”

             “This wasn’t something the other officers could clear up for you?” Skywalker’s voice was hard, and he barely looked at Kix, staring instead down the hall.

            Kix kept his voice and expression friendly. “Some of us were wondering if small, unobtrusive designs would be allowed… tributes to friends we’ve lost in combat. It’s become a tradition for some of us, sir.”

            “What does the _order_ say?”

            “It….” Kix felt a tiny buzz of guilt. “Sorry, General. I haven’t checked it myself, yet. Word was passed to me from Lieutenant Singer, and since we were planning on modifying our armor before we heard about this, I volunteered to ask you about it.”       

            “Well, change your plans. The only exceptions are for commanders.”

            “That’s what I heard. But what about members of Torrent Company, sir?”

            “Check the actual wording of the order,” Skywalker said dismissively. “If an exception isn’t clearly listed, then it doesn’t exist.” He turned to leave. “I don’t have time to explain it to every trooper personally.”

             “I understand, sir,” Kix said hurriedly. “But, General… some of us were thinking of adding a design in memory of Captain Rex.” Skywalker stopped, and Kix hesitated before plunging ahead. “I know you respected him just as much as the rest of us, sir. Is there some way we could still do this without actually going against the new order? We thought you might know if there were.”

            Skywalker’s eyes narrowed, and at first Kix thought it was just out of anger at Tarkin’s interference. But then the General said, “It’s not up for discussion. If you want to break the rules, I hope you’re prepared to face the consequences.” His voice got low and threateningly dull. “Going to your general asking for suggestions on how to dodge the rules isn’t very professional, is it? Try to do this behind my back, and you’ll be out of this battalion for good. That’s a promise. Just do your job. Dismissed.”

            “I take my job very seriously, sir,” Kix said, startled. “Which is why I thought, given how low morale is lately—”

            “I _said,_ ” Skywalker growled, glaring at Kix as he jabbed a finger at his chest. “ _Dismissed._ I don’t want to see you again until your armor paint is brought up to standard.” He shoved Kix hard, suddenly enough that Kix stumbled backward three steps before catching his balance against the wall. “And I don’t want you to approach me about anything that’s not an absolute emergency, and _even then_ , you go to your commander first.”

            “Yes, sir,” Kix said numbly. He turned and walked away. He hurried and didn’t look back until he knew he was out of sight of the door. No one followed him.

…

            “Well, I guess that does it,” Jesse said, placing the last piece of his armor down and sitting back to look at it. Everyone else’s was more or less finished being repainted, and their pieces were neatly laid out nearby, nearly indistinguishable from his. Did it matter if they got mixed up? Most of the other men added their finishing touches in silence.

            Jesse looked up when Coe made a noise and nodded toward the door. Sure enough, Kix was approaching, looking calm. In the few seconds it took him to approach, he blinked too many times, too evenly, his wandering eyes and easy gait too casual.

            “So?” Jesse tried to look hopeful. “What did he say? No?”

            Kix shook his head. “The orders stand.”

            “Looks like we’re all getting tattoos next time we’re on Coruscant.” Jesse looked around at the others; nobody looked particularly thrilled.

            “He told me that if I tried to get around the new rule behind his back, he’ll make sure I’m removed from the Five-Oh-First.” Kix murmured it half to himself.

             “Who said that?” Rabbit asked. “The commander?”

            “General Skywalker.”

            “He’s just in a bad mood, I told you—”

            “No, Rabbit,” Index said reluctantly. “I’ve tried to talk to him about some things too… but from all I’ve heard from the other officers, he won’t meet with any of us but Commander Appo. I’m surprised you even got him face to face long enough to say your piece, Kix.”

            Kix just shrugged.

            “That doesn’t seem like General Skywalker,” Jesse said quietly.

            “It’s not,” Singer agreed. “But Appo says it’s for the best. And I think he has a point. Our battalion has always been a leader in this war. But apparently, between ourselves and General Skywalker, we’re also one of the most lax when it comes to … strict adherence to procedure. The general is only trying to define the boundaries more clearly. To make things more consistent with the army as a whole, because _as_ the war gets more intense, we have to be prepared to work at the same level of excellence no matter who is commanding us.”

            “So it’s settled then,” Kix broke in. “I’m gonna go get my armor.”

            He turned away immediately.

            “I dunno,” Index sighed. “Even if it is a chain of command thing….”

            “I’ll, uh… I’ll be back in a minute.” Jesse grinned faintly and lifted a hand before he stood and hurried away.

            Kix was out in the hall before he caught up.

            “Hey,” Jesse said quietly. Kix slowed but didn’t look at him. “Did General Skywalker really say that to you? About kicking you out?” He circled around in front of Kix to make him stop.

            Kix stared at his chest. “Why are you running around without your armor on?”

            “Paint’s just drying.” Jesse shrugged. “So…General Skywalker wouldn’t consider it at all?”

            Kix took a deep breath and kept walking. “It’s fine… it’s not a problem.”

            “You sure?” Jesse frowned.

            “Yeah.” Kix swallowed. “Maybe we shouldn’t even get the tattoos.”

            “What? But…General Skywalker isn’t going to care what we get for a tattoo, as long as it’s nothing disrespectful.”

            Kix was silent as they walked. Jesse waited, but after a second Kix just tightly said “Yeah.” He lengthened his strides.

            “You’re not okay,” Jesse said quietly. “What did he say?”

            “No, I’m fine,” Kix said, strained. “I’m fine with changing our armor… it’s not a problem.”

            “That’s not true,” Jesse murmured. “I can tell that’s not true.”

            “Okay,” Kix sighed tightly. Jesse didn’t like the look of his complexion. “I need to talk about something else.”

             “But what did he say?”

            “He said _no!_ ” Kix’s voice rose and Jesse fell back a step. “Okay?” He stared at Jesse, squinting—Jesse could see him struggling to swallow in between breaths. “I told you. I already told you….”

            Jesse fell silent, trying to think of something to distract Kix.

            “I’m sorry,” Kix said abruptly, looking flushed. Jesse felt his heart drain out through his feet. “Sorry, you’re right… I’m…I’m not feeling….” Kix reached into the smaller pouch at his belt and rummaged frantically. Jesse realized he was looking for his hypo. “Where is it?” he hissed weakly between gulping breaths. “I left—in my—” His body seized suddenly and his jaw clamped shut.

            “Come on.” Jesse grabbed Kix and steered him toward the nearest refresher, noticing the tension in Kix’s shoulders as he stumbled forward.

            There were a couple guys in the refresher, but Kix dashed into the nearest open stall while Jesse scrubbed the tiny flecks of paint off his gloves as loudly as he could manage under the faucet. He could still hear Kix gagging and coughing, and his own stomach clenched. One of the stall doors opened.

            “Something wrong with the galley?” the trooper asked uneasily.

            “Oh, yeah, the supplemental meals we got today,” Jesse said, glad that his shaken feeling wasn’t audible. “Don’t worry; it’s been taken care of. It was uh… just a small slip up for a few tables. Barely anyone’s gotten sick from it. Just the guys who haven’t eaten real food for a while.”

            “Well that’s good....”

            The other trooper came out too; they washed up and left. Jesse dried off and pushed lightly on the door of the stall Kix had gone into—it wasn’t latched. Kix was on his knees, bent over the toilet, breathing shallowly.

            “You want me to stay with you or go get the rest of your medkit?” Jesse asked softly.

            Kix just groaned quietly, propping his head on one of his hands, the other arm wrapped tight around his stomach. Jesse shimmied as far as he could into the cramped stall and realized there was barely any evidence that Kix had thrown up.

            “Haven’t you eaten anything?”

            “Field rations,” Kix managed to say. His eyes were squeezed shut.

            “That’s it? For how long?”

            Kix was silent, just breathing.

            “It’s okay,” Jesse said. “Uh, I’ll go get what you need. It’s just in your crate, right?”

            Still nothing. Jesse reached out and gently touched the back of Kix’s head, only to feel him trembling. It sent a cold shock up Jesse’s arm, into his own stomach.

            “It pr-robably won’t help now,” Kix whispered breathlessly, voice cracking slightly as he wiped his mouth and swallowed again. “Don’t leave….”

            “I won’t leave,” Jesse reassured him, wondering how much pain Kix must be in.

            “Nng,” Kix groaned. “Why does this keep happening?”

            “Uh…well… you’re the one who knows about bodies,” Jesse said, feeling helpless.

            “I know _how_ it all works.” Kix coughed and made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. His half-whisper was raspy as he sat up a little straighter, both arms folded around his middle now, hands in tight fists. “But I don’t understand this at all. Why my stomach tries to tear itself in half when I haven’t even eaten anything. It doesn’t make any sense for… a soldier’s body to do this… for no good reason.”

            “Do you think it's getting worse?” Jesse asked.

            “It hasn't been this bad,” Kix said choppily. “Not until today. Usually nothing happens.” He pushed himself up off the floor and turned around. Jesse backed out to let him pass. Kix’s face was blotchy, his hands and arms still clamped tight until he reached the sink and could wash off his gloves. He took them off and shakily cupped water in his hands to rinse his mouth. When Jesse met his eyes in the mirror, Kix looked exhausted.

            “Sorry,” Jesse murmured. “I should have dropped it. I knew you weren’t feeling right.”

            “It’s not your fault.” Kix turned to look at him directly, water dripping from his chin. He was sweating. 

            Jesse wanted to know what it was Skywalker had said to make this happen. Maybe it hadn’t been much of anything at all. Maybe it was just the reminder that Rex was gone, and from that, all the memories of why. Maybe it was everything at once.

            “Do you have time to sleep?” Jesse asked.

            Kix shook his head. “I don’t want anyone wondering….”

            “I’ll cover for you.”

            “No. I don’t want to give the general any more reason to… disapprove.”

            Jesse frowned. “He’s not like Krell. He’s not _looking_ for a reason to get rid of you.”

            “No… no, I know that,” Kix said breathlessly, eyes darting, struggling to swallow again. “I know. But… if he knew—maybe—maybe he does know already, but this is… bad. I’m only getting by because I’m a medic and I can use the antiemetics… but I’m wasting medication if I have to keep using them consistently. Without them I’d be… well, he wouldn’t be able to keep high command from….”

            “Kix,” Jesse interrupted. “Wait. We don’t know that. Maybe you’re just being hard on yourself. Maybe it’s not a defect—”

            “If you were inside my head right now,” Kix whispered, “you would know something’s not right. And what kind of soldier _throws up_ just because his general got a little annoyed at him?”

            Jesse stared at the crease between Kix’s eyes, at the shaved designs on his head that were blurring as the time drew near for another trim. A shudder ran visibly through Kix. Jesse didn’t know what to do. Asking more questions might just make Kix start retching again, and he was in enough pain already.

            Long moments passed of occasional eye contact, Kix taking deep breaths repeatedly, followed by short, repressed sighs. The door opened and a few troopers walked in; Kix grabbed his gloves off the edge of the sink and Jesse followed him out.

            “You’re going to get your armor?” Jesse asked.

            “That’s the idea,” Kix murmured.

            Jesse carefully chose his words now that they were out in the hall. “Picking up anything else?”

            “Maybe rations… and some water….”

            “So… what’s the plan for next time?” Jesse asked, and Kix gave him a look.

            “Next time?”

            “I think I need to refill my personal medkit.”

            Understanding smoothed Kix’s face a little. “Oh yeah… we can make a stop on the way.”

            They didn’t speak until they were in the medical supply room. Kix went to one of the chests and opened it. For a moment, he stared motionlessly down into the vials as if he saw something there that disturbed him.

            “It’d be good for you to have some back up,” Jesse said, relieved when Kix snapped out of it and looked at him. “Besides, maybe there are other troopers who could use it too.”

            “You sure about this?” Kix frowned and pulled out a hypo and two vials of the antiemetic. “The way things are going… just saying I gave you permission might not be enough if someone finds out and wants to make a problem out of it.”

            Jesse held out his hand palm-up, determined. “That’s not gonna happen. And even if it does….” He thought of all the sheets of flimsi he and Hardcase had asked Kix to hide over the years. “That’s the risk you’ve always taken for me.”

            Kix hesitated before he put the hypo and one of the vials in Jesse’s hand. “I don’t think we’ll need it.”

            Jesse’s neck prickled, and he wasn’t sure what Kix meant by that. But he decided not to ask. Instead, he looked down to where his belt pouch should have been and laughed sheepishly. “Guess I don’t exactly have a good place to hide this right now….”

            Kix gave a weak smile and took the hypo and vials back before tucking it all away in his medpack. He gave himself a shot of something, Jesse wasn’t sure what. But the split-second image of Kix standing there with his eyes closed, the hypo cradled against his neck, made Jesse feel an unexpected pang of longing for something he could barely put into words. For things to be different. How different, he wasn’t sure. He tried not to think about it right now. But words were forming in his head again, and they would come out sooner or later.

            “Okay,” Jesse said instead. “Now you better try to eat something before we head down. You know, I can do your armor for you if you don’t want to go back down there.”

            “I’ll be alright,” Kix said, just a slight unsteadiness remaining. He hesitated. “I don’t want to be alone, anyway.”

            He said it simply, and Jesse hoped he felt as shameless about it as he sounded.

            “Alright, then. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
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	23. Chapter 23

            “Commander Cody.” The voice broke from his comm into the rushing wind of his speeder. He wasn’t going anywhere particular. Just anywhere but the GAR compound. “There’s a message for you from General Kenobi at headquarters.”

            Finally, some word from the General. It had been over a week.

            “Copy that. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

            “No rush, sir. It’s recorded.”

            Cody didn’t respond. There was no sense entertaining the drastic conclusions those few words produced in his mind. A recorded message didn’t necessarily mean bad news, or good news, or that his general preferred not to speak directly to him. It could simply mean Kenobi was too busy to wait.

            With a deep breath, he looked up for an opening and swung the speeder around. It was about 5:30, and the traffic wasn’t bad this early in the morning. The sky was a steely blue-grey, pinpricks of colored light still scattered below it. The cool wind on his face barely succeeded in clearing his head, but his body still sparked with jitters.

            When he landed ten minutes later, the sky had already changed, bleeding faint violet in the corrugated clouds. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he passed a group of city guards turning in from the night patrol, blood churning hotly through his veins. They didn’t speak to him. The hallways were quiet, scattered with faint reverberations of footsteps. In the empty lift he took a deep breath to fill the hollow that appeared when his stomach was left behind on the first floor.

            As he entered the communications tower, he didn’t even have to approach the clone on duty at the control station. Leth recognized him and jumped to his feet.

            “Station Six-A is open.” Leth gestured down the hall of small, secure rooms equipped with holoprojectors. “The message was encrypted and he didn’t leave us a go-ahead to reroute it to your personal receiver.”

            “Thanks.” Cody thought about making some kind of conversation—Leth was the friendly type who no doubt languished during long shifts with no one around. But Cody was too impatient to hear what Kenobi had to say. He lifted a hand in a quick wave and hurried to the dimly lit station.

            The moment the door closed, the hologram of General Kenobi appeared in his usual arms-half-folded, beard-stroking posture. He looked worried.

            “Greetings, Cody. I’m sorry I had to record this, but I’m a little short on time. I do hope you and the rest of the troops on Coruscant are doing well, because I’m ordering you back to the front as soon as possible. We’re scheduled to rendezvous with the fleet in the Saleucami system within the next week. The siege there has been going for months now and the other battalions may need our help. I’ve been considering how to split our forces, since the Jedi Council also wants to send me and Anakin to Cato Neimoidia, but I think I’ll hold off on that decision until you arrive and I can get a second opinion.”

            Cody felt some of the constant tension in his shoulders relaxing already, even as his mind raced ahead. General Skywalker would be at the rendezvous.

            “I really meant to check in with you sooner. But I’m afraid that even with Captain Ricky’s help, leading the Third Systems Army without you….” Kenobi grimaced sheepishly, and his voice took on a warm tone. “Well, let’s put it this way… I’m never bored.” The hologram smiled. Cody stared at it, full of relief. “I’ll do my best to organize a helpful report before you arrive, but there may be quite a few loose ends left. I apologize in advance.”

            There was a brief pause while Kenobi picked up a datapad and set it down again, trading it for another one.

            “I’m sure I’m forgetting something…hmm. There was _something_ else I meant to tell you, or…ask you, but you know, I’ve completely forgotten what it was.” Kenobi looked perplexed and laughed at himself, shaking his head and letting the pad fall back out of sight. “Well, I hope that new antenna I ordered for you meets your approval. Oh, and if any of the men need to stay behind, let me know before you leave. Otherwise, I’ll see you aboard the _Tenacity._ If you can’t make it to the rendezvous, I’ll just have to make do somehow.” He shrugged heavily, one eyebrow quirked. “But I think the battalion would prefer it if you were here. And so would I.

            “Blast, why can’t I remember what I was going to say…? Well, I’m sure it will come to me by the time we see each other.” Kenobi sighed. “May the Force be with you, Cody. I hope to see you soon.”

            The hologram flickered out and Cody felt himself warming and loosening with new purpose. They were going to get out of here. He would finally have a chance to approach Skywalker and put the questions that were haunting him behind him.

            He walked out and back the way he came, letting Kenobi’s words crowd out the doubts that had been gnawing at him for days now, keeping him awake at night. Kenobi wanted him back.

            “Good news?” Leth perked up from behind the desk.

            “Yeah,” Cody half-laughed, waving a hand. “I’m finally getting out of here! Going to see some action.”

            Leth grinned. “Can’t keep a good commander down for long! Good luck out there.”

            “Thanks.”

            He kept a brisk pace once he reached the ground floor, hoping to avoid as much contact with the city guard as possible. Fox had been keeping his distance ever since their confrontation, and the rumors had tapered off, but it wasn’t fear that kept Cody’s eyes fixed forward so much as annoyance. He just didn’t need a reason to get angry like that again, and the mere sight of red armor only made the sick feeling worse.

            He held off from immediately calling Stern; it was still not quite six hundred hours, and his inability to get a good night’s rest didn’t preclude the rest of the men from getting one. They could catch a few more minutes while he walked to deliver the news in person.

            He wondered how General Skywalker would take to a direct request for a private audience. From all Cody had observed, Skywalker appreciated boldness, but not always when it was aimed at him. Besides, the subject of Rex’s… death… might not be one he was willing to discuss. Cody wasn’t sure how much _he_ even wanted to discuss it. Just the thought of approaching Skywalker with such a request made his throat close up. But the thought of going to battle with these questions gnawing at his mind was even worse.

            Inside the 212th battalion’s barracks, the troopers were only just getting out of bed. Ran was among the first to notice and shout “Commander!” loud enough to startle some of the other men awake. “You’re here early, sir!”

            “I’ve got news from General Kenobi.” Cody raised his voice to the tone he used for announcements. “We’re moving out as soon as possible to rendezvous with the fleet. Group leaders should report to me for assignments after breakfast. I aim to depart no later than sixteen hundred hours today.”

            “Yes sir!” came the scattered response. Despite the bleary eyes that stared across the room at him, the call was strong.

            West broke from the crowd as soon as Cody motioned for everyone to carry on, and the impromptu bunk-side ranks dissolved into activity.

            “Can I have a word with you?” he grunted, his eyes on someone behind Cody.

            Cody nodded and followed West out into the hall. Instead of heading outside, West turned left and tailed a group of troopers into the refreshers. He left Cody standing in the doorway to pace leisurely along the lines of stalls, checked his face in the mirror, and walked back out, giving Cody a knowing frown as he passed.

            “What was the point of that?” Cody asked when they stepped out into the cold dawn.

            “Just checking,” West said, very quietly. “Some of them are having trouble, too. Not taking too well to down time, I guess.”

            “Well… down time is almost over,” Cody said with relief. “I think we’ll all be glad to get back to work.”

            “Maybe.” West sighed. “Oliver told you about Cratt and Puzzler?”

            “He mentioned they’re not doing well.”

            “Puzzler’s trying. I’m trying to help him, but his focus and response time is down. By a lot. Blood pressure too. Cratt… well, he’s had trouble keeping food down, and I had to check him for concussion because he blacked out yesterday. Poor kid was pretty confused. I think it’s because he’s not eating enough. I can’t recommend them for active duty in this condition, and there are at least a dozen of the men I would _like_ to put on backup for another week. Do you know if we’ll be landing soon after the rendezvous?”

            “Sounds like it. Saleucami or Cato Neimoidia. Or both.” Cody sighed. “I’ll talk to the General when we arrive. Do you have a guess what’s wrong with Cratt and Puzzler?”

            “Well….” West shook his head. “Cratt won’t talk about it. Puzzler’s morale is the worst I’ve seen in any trooper in a long time. He just keeps saying it’s pointless.”

            “Hmm.” Cody stared at the ground.

            “I hope your appetite comes back now that we’re leaving.” West gave him a keen sidelong glance.

            “Oh… I think it will.” Cody folded his arms and exaggerated the disgust that he couldn’t keep off his face.  “Once Fox and his goons aren’t around to spoil it.”

            West actually chuckled. “Ahh, I wish I’d been there to see his face. Must have been something else! I feel sorry for his men… having to listen to him all the time—”

            “Was there anything else?” Cody asked.

            “No sir.” West looked at him steadily; his grin vanished as quickly as it came. “We’re all doing the best we can. Your men are behind you, sir. I think most of us have been in the same place at least once.”

            Cody opened his mouth to rebuff West’s words, to say he didn’t know what West was talking about… and sighed. “You’re a good man, West. I’ll be fine… as soon as we reach the rest of the fleet.”

            “That may be.” West tilted his head both ways as if to shake a thought loose, or a crick in his neck. “Fine? Yeah. The same as you were before? That might take a little longer.”

            “As long as I can do my duty, that’s all that matters,” Cody said, and it was such a Rex thing to say that he looked at the ground, afraid West would see something there. The Rex he had known once, or thought he knew.

            “Right,” West muttered. “That’s what Oliver thought too. Just make sure to think about the long term, or you might be limping around for longer than you like.”

            Cody tried to squeeze out a joking tone. “West, are you scolding me? Your commanding officer?”

            “I try not to pull rank unless I have to, Commander.” West gave him a stony look. “But I thought you could use the reminder.”

             “There are other men who need this kind of talk more than I do,” Cody said quietly. He shrugged, trying to roll the tension out of his shoulders. The void in his chest was burning, just below his sternum, like a kick in the gut.

            “Maybe.” West folded his arms. “I’ll keep doing whatever I can think of for them.”

            “I know you will.” Cody took a deep breath. “You’re already doing enough for me.”

            “You’re eating, then?”

            “Yeah. Slept most of the night.”

            West nodded grimly. “Well… I’d better get back to the others. See you after breakfast.”

…

            Cody stood in the cockpit as Aiwha guided the transport in to the _Tenacity_ ’s shuttle bay. It felt more like coming home than his return to Coruscant had. He hurried back through the doors and the main corridor to direct the offloading. It had been an uneventful couple of days, but the tiny glimpses of Cratt’s condition and the restless midnight hours waking up to stifle his own breathing had Cody wound tight enough to elicit warning looks from West every now and then.

            Soon enough, it would all be over.

            “Shuttle bay is secure,” said Aiwha over the ship’s PA system. “We are cleared to disembark.”

            “Alright,” Cody commanded the section leaders who had assembled before him in the hall. “You have your assignments. Let’s make this quick. Officers, report back to me when you’ve made contact with your squad or platoon.”

            “Yes, sir!” The response was mostly enthusiastic.

            As soon as the ramp at the back opened to let them off, Cody led the way toward where General Kenobi was standing, conferring with Captains Gil and Ricky. Kenobi looked up, beaming. It was an expression that Cody had only seen directed at him a few times, and those few times gave him a swell of pride.

            “General Kenobi.” Cody saluted, before putting his hands behind his back. “It’s good to be back, sir.”

            “It’s good to have you back.” Kenobi came close and gripped his arm, and his eyes flickered to just over Cody’s shoulder. “Nice antenna.”

            “Thank you, sir. Can’t wait to test it in the field.”

            “Yes. Well, I tried to get everything in order for your return, but I’m afraid things are still a bit of a mess around here. It’s not the fault of the men, you understand; there was so much I never realized goes into your position. The captains have been handing me constant reports I didn’t know what to do with, and I’ve had to ask them to explain things to me more than once—I’m sure they’ll all be quite pleased to know you’ve arrived. Isn’t that right, Captain Ricky?”

            Ricky grinned hesitantly. “You’ve got a lot on your plate, General. I’m sure Commander Cody wouldn’t want to add a Jedi’s duties to his own either.”

            “No, sir,” Cody confirmed.

            Kenobi laughed sheepishly. “Alright, let’s see if we can’t restore this army to its usual level of excellence now that I’m getting out of the way. I’ve been causing the men a great deal of stress by violating army regulations without even realizing it—how do you remember the official protocol for every situation?”

            “It just takes time to memorize it, sir,” Cody said.

            “And experience to know when it’s _more_ acceptable to bend the rules, I imagine. I’ve received quite a few worried looks from the troops over that problem as well. I don’t think they like having me directly involved in day to day matters.” Kenobi clapped a hand briefly on Cody’s back. “ _So_ glad to have you back.”

            “Thank you, General.” Cody smiled, and it felt genuine. But his mind was already leaping ahead impatiently to his inevitable meeting with Skywalker. He would contact the other general as soon as everything was reasonably sorted out. It couldn’t take that long.

…

            Five hours later, in a gunship as they began their final descent toward Saleucami, Cody read the report Captain Gil had handed to him. There hadn’t been a moment yet where he wasn’t being asked to look at some report or other.

            “So you’re saying nearly five dozen crates of droid poppers just… disappeared?”

            “I think I know what happened sir, but I can’t confirm it, exactly. General Kenobi directly stated, multiple times, that _every_ trooper’s first responsibility was to help load the wounded and to make room by any means necessary, so someone probably shifted the crates to another supply room without updating the records because they were in a hurry. Trouble is, no one’s come forward to say which one it was all transferred to, and no one wants to take total inventory. It would take a couple of days, at least, even with an entire squad working on it.”

            Cody sighed. “Why didn’t you or Ricky just assign a squad at the time?”

            “Sorry, sir.” Gil grimaced. “We were busy. It’s… difficult to tell a Jedi what needs to be done, sir, when he’s already given out assignments.”

            “He would have listened,” Cody insisted.

            “To you, of course, but—”

            “No,” Cody interrupted gently. “He respects our abilities and it’s up to us to keep things running behind the scenes. He can’t be aware of everything all the time, even if he is a Jedi.”

            “Of course, sir. I… just didn’t anticipate how difficult it would be to trust that. I never realized to what extent you influenced his orders to the rest of us.”

            Cody took a moment to digest that. “Well… maybe things will shake out while we’re offloading. Thanks for bringing it to my attention.”

            “Yes, sir. That’s all from me, sir.”

            Cody braced himself for someone else to call, someone else in the gunship to try and get his attention. But after five seconds, it was still silent. Now was as good a time as any.

            Being Marshal Commander had its privileges. Cody could key in to the communicators of any Jedi General, and Skywalker had worked closely with Kenobi so often that calling him was almost as natural as calling Kenobi.

            Still, his heart beat noticeably as he raised his wrist to his mouth. “General Skywalker, come in, please. This is Commander Cody.”

            A pause. “I hear you Commander. What can I do for you?”

            He couldn’t tell if Skywalker’s voice was tense or if he was just imagining it.

            “I need to speak with you as soon as possible.”

            “Alright. Is Obi-Wan coming with you?”

            “He’s still on the _Tenacity_ , taking care of a few things. He’ll be down shortly.”

           A short laugh. “Alright… I’m already on the surface, over with the other fighters. You’ll have to make it fast, we need to move out soon.”

            “Yes, sir. I’ll see you then.”

            As the ship vibrated in its final descent, he grew more nervous. He had never approached a general while feeling so volatile, and about such a sensitive topic. Everything depended on his ability to keep a cool head, especially if Skywalker was in one of his contrary moods Kenobi often complained about. He kept to an outline of what he wanted to say. Concern about a possible security breach… that was a good place to start. No assumptions. Keep it professional.

            The larty settled and opened its sides. Cody jumped out and saw the starfighters had landed in a shadowy indentation nearby.

            Skywalker was already heading over. He looked about the same as ever when he stopped a few meters away, tall, looking down at Cody with the shadow of a confident smile waiting in the corner of his mouth.

            “Let’s talk over there.” Skywalker motioned toward a clump of bulbous trees.

            “Yes, sir.”

            Cody stared at the back of Skywalker’s shoulders as they walked, running over what to say. When they reached the shade the General turned to face him, arms folded.

            “Now that you’ve got my attention… what is it?”

            “Sir. While I was on Coruscant, I became aware of a possible security breach.”

            Skywalker’s eyebrow quirked a little. “Okay. Go on.”

            “Some men in the city guard were spreading rumors about the last mission your Capt—your former Captain, Rex, was sent on.” Cody tried to keep his tone even despite the fumble. “I think I managed to shut it down, but they were… unsettling, sir. The things they were saying. I thought you should know.”

            The General bowed his head a little, shadowing his narrowed eyes. “And what exactly were they saying to make you think it _wasn’t_ just a rumor?”

            “They said….” It was hard to force himself to speak evenly through the anger. “That he made a big mistake on his last mission, possibly _intentional_ , and that it was on Anaxes. I assume it had something to do with the navy, sir, but he was nearly killed down there, and some of the troops are wondering how he sustained injuries like that on such a strongly Republic-allied world—”

            “It was a top secret mission for a reason, Commander,” Skywalkwer’s voice held a warning note.

            “Of course, sir. But they believe he must have betrayed the Republic somehow, and that’s why he was sent…on that suicide mission.” Cody took a deep breath, rushing when he hadn’t meant to. “They also mentioned he was investigating key members of the senate—”

            “I don’t see why it’s _anyone’s_ business why Rex was sent away,” Skywalker’s voice raised just a hair into a tone that Cody knew meant danger. “And if it _was_ for disloyalty, you’d think you would know better than to do the same thing!”

            “I….” Cody quickly corrected his expression with a rush of dread. “Sir, I don’t understand exactly what you mean. I just want to set the record straight.”

            Skywalker started pacing and immediately stopped, sticking close to Cody and bearing down with that dark stare. “You don’t think it was for a good reason? Do you _think_ I would let a good captain go unless it was the right thing to do? And if there was something you heard that seemed like sensitive information, why do you think _I_ would tell you and not Obi-Wan?”

            “I… sir, it’s not a matter of doubting the Republic,” Cody protested, but the second he said it, he knew it was a lie. He was doubting the decision to let Rex go, doubting Rex…. “I thought…. He always spoke highly of you, General. I simply thought,” he said choppily, “it would be more appropriate, to bring these rumors directly to your attention, sir.”

            “Rex _isn’t_ my Captain anymore.” Skywalker’s voice was heavy, his eyes burning disapprovingly into Cody’s. “He was a soldier of the Republic and the Republic _made its decision_. That’s all you need to know. That’s all anyone needs to know! It’s _not your place_ to question whether he deserved it.”

            Cody clenched his fists and jaw, his entire body seizing in anger and then horror at himself. This was a general, _the_ General Skywalker, Kenobi’s closest friend, the Jedi hero of the war, the man Rex had looked up to with unwavering loyalty and admiration. And yet he wanted to punch him. His whole body trembled for half a moment with the effort of suppressing it, and he tried to breathe, hoping desperately that Skywalker couldn’t sense the nature of his struggle.

            “You want to know the truth?” Skywalker’s voice rose passionately. “Rex was losing it! He did compromise the mission on Anaxes, by directly disobeying orders, chasing threats that weren’t there! He willfully defied _everything_ I ordered him to do, putting thousands at risk! If he hadn’t, he would probably still be alive right now! But he just couldn’t let go of his crazy paranoid fantasies, trying to work against the best people in the Republic! He wouldn’t listen to me; he kept secrets from me, gave away crucial intelligence to people suspected of working against the Republic—”

            “Sir,” Cody said, overwhelmed. “That can’t be true—Rex would _never_ —!”

            “It’s true!” Skywalker cried, slashing his arm through the air. Cody nearly took a step backward.  “You don’t even want to know some of the things he said to me. He wasn’t the same Rex you knew. He was unreliable on missions, even before what happened on Anaxes. His lack of focus got too many people killed.”

            “Sir, Rex was an excellent officer! I don’t understand how this can—”

            “ _Stop… defending… his weaknesses_ ,” Anakin insisted fiercely. “You clones put too much trust in each other—this is _not_ the time for the army to start treating individual men like they’re more important than winning the war! We can’t afford that kind of selfishness right now!”

            Cody couldn’t move. He wanted to walk away but was frozen to the spot, bracing for whatever new crack in his reality might show up next. The ground was falling out from under him, and his throat was crammed full of air his lungs couldn’t seem to absorb or let go of. And there was Skywalker, so close. It would be so easy....

            Skywalker took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. “You wanted the truth. I’ve already told you more than you needed to know. Just forget about this. If you want to avoid repeating what happened to Rex, just… just forget about him and focus on your duties.” His voice flattened out at the end, quieting. “ _Trust_ your superiors.”

            Cody wanted to say he did trust them, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Every word that arose was a word of anger and argument. Surely there had to be some mistake in his understanding, some crucial piece of information he was missing. But this had been the struggle from the beginning. _Accept the decision_. It should be a relief to finally find a good reason that Rex was gone, but he had seen more than once the way Rex grew venomous in the presence of traitors. How could Rex have _been_ one? How could he have changed so suddenly? How could even Skywalker believe it?

            “Was there anything else?” Skywalker asked dully.

            “No, sir,” Cody croaked.

            “You’re dismissed, then.”

            But Skywalker turned away first, walking so fast his feet kicked up dust as if he were running, fists stiff at his thighs. Cody stood still before a cracked, muffled yell made it out through his teeth, and he slammed his fists against the nearest tree. Immediately he unclenched his hands and tore his helmet off, throwing it to the ground, shaking and ashamed of himself as he paced a wide circle around it.

            Rex had tried too hard for too long to stay strong when he was breaking… tried too hard to be vigilant, maybe, and ended up obsessing over… what? Finding traitors in the senate? Cody didn’t have to look too far to realize how that might happen. His own feeling that something must be wrong with the situation could have easily led him in the same direction. If it was Fives’ death at the hands of allies that drove Rex insane….

            He could barely see around the memories of Rex’s confession. How could Rex believe it too? Why did _everyone_ believe Rex would betray the Republic, unless it was true? Cody’s stomach felt like it was full of molten slag, and the idea of disappearing somewhere dark and solitary was the only thing that sounded safe right now. But he had too many things to do. They were on the edge of another battle. And in the dark and silence the memories would swallow him alive. He could turn the anger toward the enemy. He couldn’t be this person, who couldn’t let go of a dead brother, like a rookie still clinging in denial to a batcher’s body on his first battlefield. He knew better.

            Jerking out of his pacing, he crouched to retrieve his helmet and brush the dust off before putting it back on. He shivered at his own breathing, his back a single burning knot as he forced himself to follow the path Skywalker had taken toward the rest of the army, and the trembling brought him back to Rex’s voice, breaking. _Why didn’t he talk to me?_ _Why didn’t I listen?_

            Rex hadn’t trusted even him, in the end. And when he had spoken, at the rails outside the bar, Cody had missed the significance of it, and Rex must have decided not to push it, too ashamed. Maybe he had doubted himself too. Cody was sure if Rex had been in earnest, he would have believed anything Rex said. Rex was infallible, the most honest and loyal soldier Cody had ever known. He always had been. It was a fact of the universe, like the constant rain and churning seas of Kamino. And now the oceans were drying up.

            And everyone believed it was right, even Rex. Everyone accepted it. _Except me_ , Cody thought, vibrating with anger, and tried to direct it purely at the enemy. But for a moment he hated everything, including himself. Even Rex, even Skywalker believed this was right. Every breath was fuel to the fire spreading through his nerves.

            Cody plunged headfirst into the nearest crowd. The sooner he could tear a few clankers apart, the better. There would be no other way to let this fury go.

…

            Anakin lengthened his strides to get away from his battalion faster. He’d already given Appo the orders for the rest of the officers, but still, he caught sight of his commander running toward him.

            “General!” Appo called. “General Skywalker!”

            “What is it, Commander?” Anakin snapped.

            Appo came up a few paces short. “Sorry, sir. I just wanted to confirm whether you will be heading to the port with General Kenobi, or leading the central contingent with me.”

            “Heading to the port.”

            “Yes, sir,” Appo said, but he didn’t move. “And our plans for after the rendezvous?”

            “When it’s important to know, I’ll _tell_ you.” How many times was it going to take to get that message through to the men?

            “Yes, General… understood!” Appo came sharply to attention. “We will move out immediately.”

            Anakin watched him jog away through the deep shade of the bulbous trees. He turned and hurried to find Obi-Wan, beyond the ranks of the 212th troops who were rushing to offload supplies. As he passed through them, he caught a glimpse of Cody consulting with another officer. Then an AT-RT crossed his field of vision and blocked the view.

            He found Obi-Wan lying on his stomach on the nearest ridge, binoculars in hand. Anakin stood apart a ways, far enough from the edge that his outline wouldn’t be visible to any enemies below. He stood still until Obi-Wan put down the binoculars and looked up at him.

            “ _You_ seem stressed.” Obi-Wan’s cheerful tone was directly at odds with the tilt of his eyebrows.

            “We need to talk.”

            Obi-Wan gave him a questioning look before he sat up. Anakin just shook his head and walked away a few paces, behind a large rock that would block them from view of the camp and keep their voices from carrying. Too bad it was still hot even in the shade. That did nothing for Anakin’s mood.

            Obi-Wan followed him with a sigh. “Just when I thought I was off the hook….”

            “What? You mean because your commander’s back?” Anakin asked.

            “Well, yes. I was rather enjoying the idea of _not_ being interrupted every five seconds by something that needs my immediate attention.”

           “Well, you might have to hold off on your vacation a little longer,” Anakin muttered as he turned to face him.

            “Alright, this is obviously serious,” Obi-Wan said. “Did you get some new intelligence on our targets here? Is the fleet in danger?”

            “What? No! It’s not an outside threat. Although… you wouldn’t know it by the kinds of things your commander’s been asking me about.”

            “Like what?” Obi-Wan looked startled.

            “He says there have been rumors spreading around on Coruscant about why Rex is gone, and he came to me acting like it was some kind of serious security breach.” Anakin’s voice briefly turned mocking. “And asking me what was ‘really going on’. You better keep an eye on that Cody, Master, or he might end up going down the _exact_ same path as Rex!”

            Obi-Wan gave a sympathetic smile. “Anakin, I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. Why don’t you let me worry about Cody? And you can focus on getting to know your new commander.”

            “This isn’t a joke,” Anakin protested, annoyed at Obi-Wan’s stolid positivity. “He’s going to start making some serious mistakes if he doesn’t back off! Why is it that all these clones are suddenly trying to tell the Jedi and the Senate how to run things, and sticking their noses where they don’t belong?”

            “Now, wait a minute. Don’t you think you might be generalizing just a—?”

            “No, I’m not! This kind of questioning is rampant in the Five-Oh-First, and it looks like your battalion is having the same problem! Why do they have to start worrying about how the military is handling things _now?_ ” Anakin took a deep breath, frustration roiling through him. “Thinking they know more than we do about the war! You know, at first I thought these new uniformity measures from high command were extreme, but maybe Admiral Tarkin has the right idea after all! Clones are supposed to be soldiers, not investigators, not anything else! It just gets people killed when they do this! It has to stop!”

            Obi-Wan stared at him with alarm. “Anakin… calm down.”

           “Is that all you can say?” Anakin pressed his fists against his own head in a brief moment of sheer frustration. “Calm _down?_ This war is going on too long! When was the last time _you_ sat down and thought about how many people have died in the entire galaxy because of it? How many deaths could have been prevented if everyone would just _stop_ thinking they know what’s best and listen to us?! We can’t have disloyalty in the ranks now, not now that we’re so close to the end—one captain or commander spreading the wrong ideas could ruin everything and every time the end of the war gets postponed, thousands more innocent people die! It’s bad enough when we’re _not_ getting distracted with… with delusional soldiers who can’t let go of the past, who can’t put the Republic first like they’re supposed to!”

            “What are you talking about?” Obi-Wan asked quietly. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Explain.”

            Anakin stopped himself. He’d said too much. He hadn’t intended this—it was supposed to be a simple warning. But the anger was there, coiled in his chest. Master Yoda had been right about his weaknesses. The thought just made him feel worse. He stared at the brittle grass beneath his feet.

            “Anakin,” Obi-Wan prompted firmly. “I’m listening. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

            “No.” He turned away so he wouldn’t have to look at Obi-Wan’s kind face. “Forget it.”

            “I can’t help you unless you—”

            “I wasn’t asking for your help.” Anakin stepped out of the shade and started walking back down the hill. “I just hope you can keep Cody out of trouble.”

            “I’ll… do my best,” Obi-Wan said gently, and Anakin didn’t have to turn around to see the bewildered look on his face.

…

            After Anakin left, Obi-Wan sat down alone for several minutes, processing what he’d heard. Distant noises of men and machinery faded into silence as half their forces marched beyond earshot.  He ran through everything Anakin had said and his desperate tone of voice and agitated movements. Then he raised his arm.

            “Cody?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Could I speak with you privately for a moment?”

            A pause. “Yes, sir. I’ll need to speak with the captains for a moment first.”

            “That’s fine. Meet me on the eastern ridge.”

            Less than ten minutes later, Obi-Wan saw the commander’s figure climbing the hill with slow, deliberate steps, shadow stretching in front of him. He had his helmet tucked under his arm. Obi-wan’s heart sank at the change he sensed in Cody. Outwardly, it was still nearly impossible to tell; Cody’s eyes locked on Obi-wan as soon as he joined him in the shade. The commander looked alert, almost too alert, his eyes wide and his face stiff and drained of any of the easygoing calm Obi-Wan had seen earlier. But inwardly, the confusion, sadness, and suffering that had been effectively tempered upon his initial return was back in full force, nearly as raw as the first time Obi-Wan had felt it. And now it had been joined by a shield of anger.

            “Cody… I’m sorry about Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed immediately. “I heard you and he had a… conversation. I see it wasn’t exactly pleasant for either of you.”

            There—Cody’s façade wavered, his eyes falling slightly and refocusing for a moment in a way that Obi-Wan was certain meant he was grasping for the right thing to say. “I was out of line, sir.” It sounded forced.

            “I doubt you were any further out of line than Anakin was. I’m not entirely sure why he reacted the way he did, but if his conversation with you was anything like his conversation with me… well, I think he has a lot on his mind, and he might have taken it out on you.”

            Cody stood stiffly, staring at the ground with his jaw quivering, forehead creased, barely breathing. It was almost _hatred_ , Obi-Wan realized.

            “You know he… he lost his padawan Ahsoka not so long ago. And I think he feels a great deal of grief and conflict about what happened with Rex… but he won’t talk to me about it. Last time I tried, he thought I was… questioning his loyalties….” Obi-Wan caught himself, clasping his hands in front of him. “Well, I didn’t call you here to make excuses for him. I just want you to know that I don’t agree with his feelings on this matter. And if you still have any questions, I promise I _will_ try to answer them to the best of my ability.”

            Cody stayed still as a droid in his armor, then took a slow breath, staring at the ground—a breath meant to keep him from saying too much, from all Obi-Wan was sensing. He waited. The silence was heavy, but Obi-Wan held back from breaking it.

            At last, Cody said, “Thank you sir. I think I’ve already got my answer.”

             “But what exactly did he say?”

            “I’d rather not repeat it,” Cody half-whispered.

            “Anakin mentioned something about rumors spreading on Coruscant,” Obi-Wan prompted, and pressed on when Cody remained silent. “About Rex. I think I can put two and two together. Do you remember when Rex asked you to set up a private meeting with me?”

            Cody nodded. His face was constricted in an expression Obi-Wan had almost never seen before.

            “Did he tell you what we talked about?”

            Cody looked so miserable for a moment that Obi-Wan felt a pang of guilt for even asking. But then the commander shook his head slightly. “He….” Cody swallowed. “He was worried the virus that….”

            Kenobi waited, but Cody could only manage a tight “Sorry, sir,” under his breath.

            “He asked me who commissioned the clone army. That _is_ confidential information, and I’m afraid I got rather impatient with him for even asking. I was surprised at his persistence, I suppose.” Now in retrospect, he could see all too clearly what had driven him to take offense.

            “So…” Cody said in defeat. “You’re saying that… Rex…was looking into… things he shouldn’t have. That….”

            Obi-Wan waited.

            “He _was_ a traitor?” Cody whispered.

            “No,” Obi-Wan said gently. “Cody, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”

            Cody looked up at him suddenly, almost pleading. “I don’t understand, General.”

            “He was concerned with the parasite that drove Arc Trooper Fives mad, yes. He and Anakin were both there when Fives was killed. And Fives apparently said some things that implied a conspiracy of some kind against the Republic, most likely being carried out by someone in the senate. I think Rex was never truly convinced that a parasite was the cause of his breakdown, and because he trusted Fives, he couldn’t ignore such a serious threat to the integrity of the army, even if it seemed unlikely to everyone else around him. I’m fairly certain he was loyal to the end… in his own way. I believe… seeing his friend die at the hands of his allies must have turned his drive to protect the rest of us into an obsession.”

            He could feel a painful hope in Cody rising.

            “It wouldn’t be the first time he’s faced such a terrible situation,” Obi-Wan sighed. “Isn’t that right? After what happened to the Five-Oh-First under Pong Krell. And to some of our own men, as well.”

            “Yes, sir,” Cody said.

            Obi-Wan waited, but Cody didn’t move or say anything more.

            “You’re still angry,” he observed. What an understatement.

            Cody stiffened. “I’m sorry, General. I know I have no reason to be. It’s inexcusable.”

            “Oh, it’s nothing to apologize about. Except perhaps to yourself.” Obi-Wan sighed. “I don’t _usually_ bring up things like this, but… I understand a part of how you must be feeling. I cared a great deal for my Master, and when he was killed, I found it very difficult to let go of my anger. I thought I had, but… having to face the Sith who killed him after all these years brought it all back to the surface, and interfered with my judgment. If not for that… perhaps some deaths could have been prevented.”

            Obi-Wan watched Cody for a response to that, hoping his persistence, his own vulnerability, would do more good than harm to Cody’s confidence. The commander seemed conflicted.

            “I promised you, General,” Cody muttered, eyes on the floor. “I’ll take care of this, one way or another.”

            “The thing I’m still learning,” Obi-Wan pressed on quietly, “is one of the most fundamental teachings of the Jedi philosophy. Fear leads to anger. Fear of a loss of some kind, usually. So when we _are_ angry, we must ask ourselves what it is we are so afraid of. What are you afraid of, Cody? I want to help you.”

            “Sir,” Cody said uncomfortably. “I don’t… I don’t think that talking about this will help.”

            “Because you’re afraid to acknowledge that you’re suffering?” Obi-Wan couldn’t keep a tiny note of exasperation from his voice.

            Cody sighed slowly, and Obi-Wan felt certain he’d hit the mark.

            “You need to let it move through you. Letting go of attachment means letting go of fear… allowing ourselves to experience our feelings as they happen, good and bad, and recognizing they are only temporary… it’s the only way to keep from being corrupted by them.”

            “I’m not a Jedi, sir,” Cody insisted. “I don’t know _how_ to do any of this. Besides… if I am…afraid of something…. It’s probably just that Fox was right… and… I didn’t really know Rex as well as I thought I did….”

            “I see.” Obi-Wan frowned, not sure if Cody was being entirely honest or not. “How long have you known Rex?”

            “Well… since we were cadets,” Cody said, raising his hands from his sides slightly in a helpless gesture. “Kids, really... we were six when we met.”

            “And how long has Fox known him?”

            “I’m not sure.” Cody’s mouth quivered—it almost looked like a weak smile. “A few years, maybe?”

            “Then take that as a comfort. Both you and I know that Rex was as we knew him to be: a man of great integrity, a good friend.” Obi-Wan finally gave in and reached for Cody’s shoulder, rested his hand lightly on the shoulder plate. The restraint keeping Cody’s face smooth and empty wavered again. “With the right perspective, his motives do make sense for who he was. And it does seem wrong that he was condemned for doing what he thought was his highest duty.”

            “And General Skywalker, sir?” Cody’s breath came rough. “Is it possible he sensed something about Rex that we don’t know?”

            “I suppose… but… please trust me, Cody. I think I know when my former Padawan is being unreasonable. He is acting out of his pain… and he is in a great deal of it. I think… he is looking desperately for a justification, a good reason for the Republic’s decision to….” Obi-Wan struggled with himself for a moment, realizing the euphemisms that immediately came to mind were just that. “To put Rex to death.”

            Cody exhaled as if he’d been kicked, closing his eyes tightly for a moment. “I….”

            Obi-Wan kept his hand on Cody’s shoulder, feeling a sad swell of admiration for his intense commitment to the Republic.

            “I don’t know what to say,” Cody said, sounding lost. “I don’t know what to think. It… I don’t want to question the orders… but Rex was….”

            “Caught up in forces that were beyond him,” Obi-Wan sighed. “Cody, I’m trying to tell you that you’re not wrong for feeling pain at the loss of someone you loved. No one is immune to that. I have felt it before. I’ve even let it corrupt me only because I didn’t want to acknowledge that I felt it. I was afraid.” He stopped himself, realizing that Cody’s fear carried another layer of truth to it. “You... must also be afraid that expressing any kind of anger over the decisions of high command will carry a punishment.”

            “I don’t want to question orders, sir,” Cody repeated quietly, head bowed. “I… almost wish there was some traitor, responsible for this…. I’m sorry.”

            Obi-Wan felt trapped. Saying aloud that Cody was angry at the policies of the army in general would only make Cody feel more like a traitor, and what good would that do?

            “I know how loyal you are to the Republic,” he finally said. “Although they could have handled this situation better—” I could have handled it better, Obi-Wan thought. “—looking for someone to blame isn’t going to change what you’ve lost. It isn’t going to heal you. And that is what we need to focus on now. Of the two of us, I have more of a voice in the way the army does things.  I’ll be the one who worries about preventing this kind of tragedy in the future.” Obi-Wan let his voice go very soft, and smiled sadly. “Is that clear, Commander?”

            “Yes, sir.” Cody looked at him with trust. For a moment Obi-Wan almost felt like he had a padawan again, and remembered the moments early on when Anakin was still a child, still missing his mother and trying to be strong. He shook himself free of that idea; Cody was an adult, no matter what his numerical age said, and Obi-Wan had always thought of him as such. But adults could feel just as lost and overwhelmed as children at times.

            “If I’m responsible for your life… for all your men’s lives… then I will do my best to protect you. I may fail—”

            “General, our lives are our own, but we choose to give them up in service to you,” Cody said automatically.

            “Then that choice is exactly what I want to protect.” Obi-Wan finally let his hand drop to his side. “There are some forces at work in the Republic that… well, let’s just say they don’t fully realize the value of that choice. You are more than just my commander, Cody. I’d like to be allowed to help you as a friend, but the choice is yours, of course. Just know that with me, you are entirely safe from suspicion of disloyalty. I’ve known you long enough and well enough, I think. It would take more than a bit of anger for me to lose faith in you.”

            Cody slumped a bit, and Obi-Wan wondered if it was in defeat or relief. “Thank you, General.” He looked and sounded exhausted. “I don’t want to let you down….”

            “You haven’t,” Obi-Wan said firmly. Then, he laughed a little, which brought Cody’s gaze up from the ground for a moment in question. “If there’s something I’ve learned while you’ve been gone, it’s that having the men trying too hard not to let me down can sometimes make it all too easy for me to let _them_ down, and then _I_ look like a complete fool. I think the captains who led in your absence didn’t know what they were signing up for.” He half smiled at Cody. “It’s probably best if we’re all a little more comfortable with one another’s weaknesses. Besides, you usually handle things on the ground so well that it puts me to shame.”

            Cody straightened a little, trying and failing to smile back. “Ah… sir, it’s just a matter of experience.”

            “Well, you know how often I complain to you about things. It’s only fair that I listen once in a while. And I would have so much more to complain about if you weren’t here.”

            Cody almost laughed—he gave a small huff of breath and shook his head. “I don’t mind the complaining too much, sir. It can be pretty entertaining.”

            “Good! At least one of us is amused.” Obi-Wan folded his arms, testing Cody through the Force again. He had relaxed a bit… perhaps the anger was fluctuating, lessening. “It’s an interesting coincidence that you and Rex ended up working together so often after completing your training. I never really thought about it before. Is it rare to have such a strong friendship last outside of the same battalion?”

            “I’m not sure. We don’t… I… we were aware when we graduated that we might not see each other again… but that goes for every soldier in every battle, sir.” Cody looked a little ashamed. “Groups of cadets are split up sometimes even if they’re not being trained as officers.”

            “It must have been a great surprise for both of you that Anakin and I work together so often.”

            “Yes, sir. We always felt we were extremely fortunate in who we were assigned to. For several reasons.”

            “And I imagine your friendship only grew stronger with experience.”

            Cody took a deep breath. “Yes, sir.”

            Obi-Wan watched him, and Cody stared back, resigned.

            “You probably wish I wouldn’t notice all of this.”

Cody’s eyes narrowed a little but he said nothing.

“You’ll have to be patient with me, Cody. It may seem easier to pretend that this never happened. But I think you know that’s not the case. And it would be a shame to treat all that history between you as if it was meaningless. That’s not really what you want, is it?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Well... I’ll leave it to you. You know your relationship with Rex much better than I do. But I am obligated to take an interest in it, both as your friend and as your General.”

             “I understand, sir. I appreciate the gesture… and the advice. I’m just not sure how to… follow it, exactly.”

            “I’m sure we’ll figure something out. In the meantime, try not to let what Anakin said bother you too much. I wish my talks with him were nearly as productive as this.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “I wish I knew if I were getting through to him at all.”

            A weak laugh from Cody. It hurt to see him trying so hard to act normal. “He’s still young by the usual standards, isn’t he? Sometimes I forget.”

            “He is,” Obi-Wan admitted. “But a little too old to still be going through a brooding adolescent rebellion.” Obi-Wan softened, thinking again of the pain Anakin was in. “Well, I can’t be too hard on him… he’s just stubborn, that’s all.”

            “Stubbornness can be a good thing,” Cody affected a light tone and shrugged stiffly. “He’s an effective general.” He hesitated. “If Rex respected him, and you’re like a brother to him, sir… he can’t be _that_ bad.”

            Obi-Wan laughed. “No, he isn’t….”

            Cody took another deep breath and shifted his stance. “Thank you again for the antenna, sir. I’d better get back to the troops. If there’s nothing else….”

            “Oh. No, nothing else. Shall we?”

            Cody hesitated, nodded once and turned to go. Obi-Wan sighed heavily and walked with him down the hill, hoping he had helped at least a little. Now all he had to do was figure out a way to defuse Anakin, or try to be there to mop up the damage the next time he exploded.


	24. Chapter 24

            The air was heavy even through helmet filters. Jesse and the rest of the first contingent had guzzled some water before moving ahead of the AT-TEs, but his personal supply was gone. The company plodded between thick tree trunks and roots choked by stiff knee-high grass and brush. Rounded leaves dripped moisture that hung grey in the air, the AT-RTs footfalls jarring between the company’s murmuring gait. It had been so dry where they’d started, but now they were well into a forest warmed and watered by thermal springs. The sun burned dully silver in the foggy sky.

            All quiet for more than six hours. So far, they had only found two small squads of B1s, not the dense net of droids that had been making the siege so slow-going for other battalions. Instead, animal eyes glinted at them when they shone their helmet lamps into the shadows.

            Even from near the front, Jesse would have lost Appo if the commander hadn’t been a pace or so ahead of everyone else. Everyone was in camo gear, and Jesse’s eyes were still trying to memorize the slight variation in the color blotches to know who was who.

            Their tight ranks fell into a more natural formation of small groups on alert, cycling their outer members so that no one spent too long on the periphery. Appo stopped up ahead and Jesse’s squad came close beside; their feet between the grass kicked up water.

            “Could be a river,” Appo said quietly, pulling out his holo-map. “Or a pond. And it’s running right across our path.”

            The river—if it was a river—barely moved, and fog made its width difficult to judge. Jesse thought he could see faint silhouettes of trees on the other side. Appo’s map showed a large greyed area: the rainforest. The only helpful part right now was the directional pointers—north, south, east, west—and the little dot that represented Appo’s position relative to their goal. No landmarks, Jesse thought. There was nothing in this forest for him to orient himself by. The trees were as indistinguishable as he and his brothers were in their armor.

            “We’ll march straight across!” Appo called back. “Singer, your platoon is with me. Single file and _slowly_. Watch for sinkholes.”

            They fell into line silently, and Jesse thought the slosh of their legs through the water was too loud in the humid silence. With how sweaty he was, it was easy to imagine the tepid water seeping through his undersuit, but he knew that was unlikely. The mud beneath them was clingy, and after a dozen steps everyone was panting a little.

            “It’s too bad Kix couldn’t come,” the trooper just ahead of Jesse said breathlessly, as they hit brush and could half-crawl and elbow their way out of the waist-high water. “We’ll just have to make sure he’s not missing much.”

            “Lieutenant?” Jesse guessed.

            “Yes. How’s he doing, Jesse?”

            “Oh, he’s… fine,” Jesse said, wincing at the stilted reply, and gave an even worse laugh. Appo was calling to the other squads—“ _follow our path exactly!”_ “Just, you know, a medic’s work is never done.”

            “Mm.” Singer nodded. “It’s a good call for Commander Appo to put him in the second contingent. Coming up behind us, he can triage more efficiently, right?”

            “Yeah… maybe. The walkers can carry the wounded, at least.” Their primary objective for the next few days was to assist the other battalions on Saleucami in creating a perimeter around the port city before they reached the edges of its sensor grid. But with the trees so close it was harder for the AT-TEs to get through.

            A trooper sighed on Jesse’s other side and vaulted over a tall root.

            “What?” Jesse asked.

            “There’s no room to run in this place!”

            Singer laughed softly. “It’s going to be a long march, brother. Save your energy.”

            Jesse nudged the restless trooper with his elbow. “Rabbit, aren’t you supposed to be with _your_ squad?”

            “Eh.” Rabbit shrugged, but fell back a few paces and disappeared into the re-thickening crowd.

            “You think you should just trade Rabbit into our platoon, Lieutenant?” asked another trooper. “I bet Mark wouldn’t mind shifting squads. And I’d love the chance to pull rank on Rabbit.”

            “I’m sure you would, Sergeant Kriko,” Singer said in that overly formal tone that meant he was playing off the first impression many troopers had of him. “I’m sure you would.” Jesse could hear the smile in his voice.

            Blaster fire jumped electricity through his arms.

            “AMBUSH!”

            “Sting’s down!”

            “Droids at nine o’clock! Look _up!_ ”

            The screams came from behind Jesse. Through his rifle sights the men still crossing the river fell by the half-dozen and were swallowed by grey water. Jesse's feet stumbled between the moss-dripping arms of the nearest fallen tree as if they had a mind of their own. Voices surrounded him, no telling who they belonged to.

            “Hurry up and find cov—”

            “ _Ciro!_ Get up!”

            “Help! Help me pick him u-gAHH—”

            “Behind you!”

            “Everyone!” a voice yelled across the comm. “Find cover! _They’re in the trees_!”

            Must be Commander Appo. With a feeling of hyper-clarity, Jesse crouched and scanned the treetops where the blaster bolts were coming from. He couldn’t see anything.

            “How did they get _up_ there?” Jesse muttered “Sergeant Copper, where are you?”

            “Out of commission, Jesse. This is Singer, regrouping with Commander Appo!” Jesse saw a trooper wave an arm out of the corner of his eye; Singer and a few other troops were gathering with Appo behind the roots of the tree whose branches hid Jesse.

            No sooner had he mapped his route, he burst from behind the branch and pelted across the opening, running as low as he could in the tall grass, knees going hot and feet sliding on the mud, not bothering to shoot before he reached cover—no point marking himself as a target just yet.

            “ _Help!_ ”

            Jesse stumbled to slow himself and blindly grabbed the outstretched hand that invaded the edge of his visor’s view. Yanking the trooper’s arm roughly over his shoulders, he stumbled forward and dropped the trooper as soon as they’d made it to Appo’s group. “Need a medic?”

            “I-it’s not serious,” panted the trooper. “Just can’t walk. It’s Bones, by the way.”

            “Broken bones?”

            “No, my name. Well, the bone is probably—”

            “Oh! Bones!” Jesse laughed shakily. “Jesse.” He turned to Singer and Appo. “So what’s the plan?”

            “Commander?” Singer asked, turning toward the clone studying a holo-map. Jesse sighted a few grey blots over the edge of the roots and, after nearly ten blasts, finally brought one droid tumbling from the treetop.

            “This map isn’t detailed enough.” Appo’s voice rose above the battalion’s screams as he jerked the view back and forth from their current position to points in the surrounding area. “Can’t see better cover ahead. But if we stay here we’re canned targets!”

            “ Sir,” Jesse observed with a sinking feeling. “Those things can _fly_.”

            Five droids were headed right for them. Like B1-s but raptorlike, with segmented wings. The blaster fire came directly from their barrel-like heads and Jesse yanked Singer down onto his knees as the things swooped past. Appo ducked, fired—a miss.

            “We have to keep moving,” Appo said, crouched and looking up. “All squads, keep moving forward! We have to break through!”

            Jesse turned back to grab Bones, and Singer was on the wounded trooper’s other side a moment later, sharing the load. Through the chaos of blaster fire Appo led the way between roots and bushes—minimal cover, but better than nothing.

            As they hobbled to keep up, it was hard to resist the urge to stop and look up at the droids every few steps. Jesse strained against Bones’ weight suddenly and the trooper screamed right into his ear—Bones’ arm was wrenched from Jesse’s grip and Jesse lost his balance.

            As he stumbled and fell back, he rolled onto hands and knees and his visor was a blur of leathery skin and feathers. A sharp beak dug between the torso plates of Bones’ armor and Jesse, finding his rifle ready, shot at it without thinking

            The creature flinched and spread huge mottled wings as it wrapped talons around Bones’ chest. Its head drew sharply back, open beak pointed toward the sky. There was a sharp crest made of bone on top of its head. For a moment Jesse could hear nothing but blasterfire and screams, until a vibration in his jaw clarified into the deepest shriek he’d ever heard.

            He shuddered and aimed at it again before another trooper’s body slammed into his, but the creature didn’t pounce. It took flight, Bones dangling limply by one arm; blood shone all down the front of his armor.

            “ _Bones!”_ Jesse yelled, scrambling to get out from under his brother.

            “Jesse, there’s more of them coming!”

            The trooper who’d tackled him—Singer—grabbed his arm and kept Jesse on his knees. Between the trees and across the water, more of the leathery birds were landing, their bodies and tails trailing fine dark feathers like hair. As Jesse watched, they swooped down on troopers that had fallen—some screamed and squirmed as the birds speared them or dug their talons in. Others were unresponsive.

            A squad fired on one of them as it tried to drag their injured brother away, too far away for Jesse to help. The bird tumbled and found its feet, staggered, and rammed one trooper up against the nearest tree with its head. The trooper went limp and the monster whirled on another, driving him to the ground with its talons before the others took it out. It dropped in a mess of feathers and scaled legs and for a moment the rest of the birds turned to look at it.

            It was almost quiet, but the droids kept firing from above; another brother nearby yelped and went down. Two of the creatures leapt on his body and Jesse forced his focus toward the treetops as the grasses around his feet sizzled.

            Singer fired with him; the faint silhouettes shifted like a swarm, reshaping or disappearing altogether to let the blaster bolts pass through. The screams of fellow troopers continued.

            “How many have we hit?” Jesse panted, shifting around the tree’s massive roots for a better angle.

            “Only four. We’ve already lost four _squads_ worth.” Singer dropped to his knees again for a moment, hand to his helmet. “Yes, sir. Understood. Everyone, change of plan! Dig in and find cover! Don’t move! We’ll make them come to us.”

            Jesse heard the order echoed from Appo over his comm.

            “Where’s Copper?” he asked, sighting another avian about to fly off with a struggling trooper.

            “Focus on the droids, Jesse.” Singer’s voice was a little higher than normal.

            “He’s still alive!” Jesse hissed.

            “You’ll draw attention,” another trooper hissed back, grabbing Jesse’s rifle. “We have to come up with a plan or _none_ of us are going to make it through.”

            “We can’t leave the wounded, sir,” Singer was saying quietly into his comm. “Not when they’re still alive.”

            “Who’s leaving the wounded?” Jesse demanded, and squeezed the trigger. The other trooper let go of Jesse’s rifle before the second shot, but the bolt still went wild and hit a tree.

            “Sir,” Singer was saying, “if we can just—”

            “Incoming!”

            The battlefield, what Jesse could see of it from behind the fallen tree, had gone relatively still, all troopers holding ground wherever they’d found cover. Just the criss-cross of blaster bolts lit the swarm of droids descending toward them—Jesse grabbed the nearest kneeling trooper around the middle and dragged him backward into a watery gap beneath the fallen tree that hid them. It was barely large enough for them to crawl under, their heads pressed against the log above to leave room for their helmets and rifles above water. Muck slid slowly off his visor and he fired wildly at the droids as they swooped overhead. He could see other troopers’ boots stumbling over the roots and grasses, and a few more bodies fell in his sightline.

            Singer splashed down into the shadow of the tree beside Jesse a moment later, breathing heavily and still speaking into his comm. His voice sounded flat even though Jesse could hear it twice over. “Singer here. We’ve been ordered to leave any wounded who can’t move in the open. The scavengers are too aggressive to fight off, and the bodies will distract them while we fight the droids.”

            “Lieutenant!” hissed Jesse.

            “I’m sorry, Jesse.” Singer’s voice was blunt. “I don’t like it either. But the Commander’s right: we have to keep our number of active men as high as we can if we’re going to complete the mission.”

            “There _has to be_ another way!” There was another bird in Jesse’s sights, swooping down toward an injured brother and the friend who checked his vitals. They both screamed and Jesse looked away, sucking air through his teeth. “There can’t be that many of those things!”

            “They just… keep coming,” the trooper on Jesse’s other side whispered.

            Through the trailing moss beneath the log Jesse saw at least six more of the avian beasts touch down, crowding a group of corpses. The ones who had been there first snapped their beaks at them; they fluffed their black neck feathers for a moment before scattering to find other corpses. The troopers who could still move scrambled to get away from them. One bird began stalking one of the walking troops, who had lost his rifle.

            “No you don’t,” Jesse heard Singer mutter and a moment later the Lieutenant was gone. Jesse heard shots and quick footsteps coming from above him as Singer ran along the log.

            “ _Run_ , trooper! Get cov—!”

            Singer’s voice died into the noise and Jesse saw a splash in the corner of his visor’s view.

            “No no no no no!” Jesse yelled, crawling through the muck under the log toward where Singer had fallen. The Lieutenant flailed to his feet, gasping, and Jesse fired on another swarm of droids as they made a pass.

            “I’m okay! I’m fine, get back under cover!” Singer smacked his free hand blindly at Jesse and the other trooper who had grabbed him to steady him. “I just slipped!”

            “Your ammo’s leaking,” the other trooper pointed out, between shots at the approaching droids.

            “Get down!” Singer shoved them both back behind a branch as the swarm swooped over them. Jesse tried to focus through the new fog rising from the rain of fire and shoot a few of them, but no droids dropped from the sky, only more scavengers. He crawled backward under the log again.

            “Agh,” Singer sighed once they were out of blast range, and flipped his blaster over in his hands. “Great.” Liquid Tibanna was dripping from the cartridge in Singer’s rifle, leaving a bright residue on the water they crouched in. A blaster bolt had broken the seal. Jesse noticed, a moment later, a darker drop of liquid on the water.

            “You’re bleeding.”

            Singer shook his head, chest rising and falling visibly. Jesse heard himself panting, hot in the face. Angry. “Clankers just nicked my hand,” said Singer. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not going to get far without a weapon.” The tibanna cartridges were made to last for nearly a thousand shots. One could easily replace the energy packs that charged the blasts, but refilling the LT was too time-consuming for an active battle zone.

            “It’s all over us; it’s in the water,” the other trooper said, arms raised as he looked down at his own chest. His voice wavered slightly, almost a laugh. “We get hit, we could go up in flames.”

            “I am not going to wait around for that,” Singer yelled briskly over the noise. “ _I’m_ going to find another weapon. And if I _do_ blow up… I’ll take some clankers down with me!”

            Before either of them could say anything, Singer was gone again, running through the red flashes toward a prone suit of armor slumped at the base of another tree.

            “Keep firing at the droids,” Jesse said tightly. He could smell the volatile LT on himself now, the sharp, chemical odor that every trooper dreaded because it meant a deadly malfunction in any number of weapons or equipment. Even as he tried to sight toward the treetops he knew it was hopeless. The droids were too shielded by the fog to shoot at accurately. They probably had heat vision to guide _their_ aim, but the droids gave off too little heat for Jesse or any other trooper to spot with thermal imaging in turn. No scent of blood to attract predators. Every odd was stacked against the 501 st.

            He and the trooper beside him stood in a puddle of watered-down LT now—the minute returning fire hit this spot they would get burned at the very least. “Let’s get out of the water.”

            “Copy that,” the trooper said with shaky relief, and they crawled and rolled out onto solid ground.

            “You, go give Singer some back up,” Jesse said. The pool behind them burst into flame as the droids made another pass.

            “It’s Afterthought!” the trooper yelled, but saluted between shots. “Where are _you_ gonna go?”

            “Oh! AT!” Jesse said. “Look, he’s—!”

            AT whipped around to fire at the beast that was approaching Singer and the body he’d been running for. The shot missed but the bird stopped to stare back at them, and Singer kept running. The creature lunged and recoiled, flapping its wings, though Singer had done nothing Jesse could see to frighten it. Singer skidded and stopped, arms stretched out as if to keep his balance or ward the beast off from the body.

            “What’s he doing?” AT said, but Jesse forced himself to look away, toward the trees, thinking as he shot and scurried between cover. Could he pour more LT into the water, lure the droids into range and ignite? They never flew quite low enough for that to be effective. It would probably kill more men than droids. Was there a way to make droids easier to spot?

            Another scream yanked Jesse’s gaze over to Singer, but it wasn’t him. The bird still hadn’t struck, just staring at Singer, and Singer edged slowly toward the gun the dead trooper had dropped beside the tree. The screaming trooper was further to the right, silent now, being torn up by another beast. Jesse had always had a strong stomach but he shot before he could stop himself, screaming at the animal as it flinched and flew away. Its deep shriek was a painful pressure inside his skull.

            “ _—droids. Repeat, do not engage the avians, focus on the droids!_ ”

            He knew the trooper was already dead. Or if he wasn’t, death would be a mercy. Jesse steeled himself and set up the cable attachment on his rifle, veering aside to pick up a pack of explosives from another body. There were so many dead already. He didn’t want to pull off the helmet of the one he took the pack from—No. He did want to, but couldn’t. The trooper wasn’t a medic. That at least he knew.

            “Sorry brother,” Jesse panted as he attached the explosives to the body. This trooper, shot by blaster, was not blood-soaked yet, not like the one that lay just meters away. This was just a suit of armor, he told himself.

            He could smell the blood. Blood and fuel. Blaster bolts blurred the edges of his vision. The pools around him were turning red; maybe the light was tricking him. His stomach churned.

            When he was done, Jesse ran to the tree where Singer and AT held the avian at bay. At the sight of a third trooper approaching it shook its head furiously, scrabbled backward on its scaly feet and flew away.

            “A little more cowardly than I thought,” Singer huffed, and began shooting at the treetops again. “Jesse, what are you doing?”

            “Don’t worry, I have a plan! Just try to cover me!” Jesse aimed and shot his cable gun at the highest sturdy branch he could see.

            “I didn’t authorize anything!” Singer called.

            “I know!” Jesse said. “I just have to try this! I have to try _something!_ ”

            “The Commander said to find cover, not make yourself a target! _Jesse!_ ”

            “Sorry, Lieutenant!” Jesse flipped the switch and he flew upward toward the branch, aware that at any moment a bolt could hit him and, if that didn’t kill him, the fall surely would. There was no Jedi around to catch him. “If I survive this you can lecture me all you want!”

            “Jesse….” He sounded worried. “I’m coming with you!”

            “No!” Jesse grunted as the cable reeled him in the final length and he slammed into the branch. He wrapped all four limbs around it and hauled himself toward the trunk, elbow of his rifle-arm hooked awkwardly around the branch. A few droids passed his way; he fired wildly and felt his other hand lose its grip—for a moment he dangled upside-down with his legs wrapped around the branch, wet armor quickly losing traction. For a sickening moment he felt it slip from between his feet. Falling, he raised his gun to try and fire another cable but something snagged his armor, he flipped around and felt his shoulder wrench out of place, struck from behind. The rifle left his fingers.

            His breath left him. As soon as he could force his lungs to inhale, Jesse screamed—the pain went through him like a blaster bolt, and for a moment he wondered if he’d been shot, but then his arm wrenched around again and he was falling, he slammed into the trunk, he couldn’t breathe out, there was no air left. His other hand found purchase on a branch just as someone grabbed him around the middle.

            “What were you _doing?_ ” a voice demanded.

            Jesse sucked air, dizzy and waiting for his vision to clear. He could see the ground far below, between where his feet rested on a branch. He didn’t remember putting his feet down on anything. One tiny trooper looked up and waved from behind a stump.

            “What… h-happened?” Jesse finally managed.

            “You slipped, I grabbed you, but the branch my cable was attached to broke, and you hit another branch on the way down before I could reattach. I think your shoulder might be dislocated. Sorry. I had to wrench it again to get you up.”

            “Singer?” Jesse breathed. The trooper’s arm was still around his waist.

            “Yes. What were you thinking?” Singer asked. His calm sounded forced. “We can’t hit them any better up here, and there’s no cover. I’m surprised they haven’t shot us yet.”

            “Look… I… I need to get that body up here.” Jesse pointed toward the one he’d rigged with explosives. He couldn’t see Singer; the lieutenant was behind him.

            “What? The body? Why?”

            Jesse didn’t say anything, aware that his plan would sound crazy. But from here he could see even better how few troops there were remaining. The forest floor was soaked red and littered with bodies, some whole, some in pieces.

            He could hear Singer’s helmet comm going off. “ _Lieutenant Singer, regroup at point one-zero-six by four-seven on map E-5. We have to concentrate our forces and come up with a plan. What’s your position?_ ”

            “AT,” Jesse panted into his comm. “I’m running out of time. If we shoot this cable at your stump, can you reattach it to the body I rigged with explosives?”

            “Yes sir, I’ll— _what?_ ” Singer gasped, distracted from his comm with Appo. “Jesse!”

            “Droids incoming!” Jesse reached for another branch with his good hand and yanked himself around to the other side of the tree while Singer re-balanced and shot at a few as they passed. He managed to hit one before he joined Jesse on the other side.

            “ _Singer! Singer, report! Are you still there? Singer! Blast_ ….”

            “Singer here, still here, Commander,” Singer panted. “My position is—I’ll check coordinates once I’m on the ground, sir. Just a moment.”

            “ _What?!_ ”

            “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Singer said to Jesse, and shot his cable toward the stump where AT hid.

            “I got it, sir,” AT said a moment later, to both Jesse and Singer’s comms. “Reattaching in a moment.”

            “Go go go,” Jesse urged under his breath as AT darted out toward the body.  In a moment AT signaled the go-ahead with his arm and ran back toward cover. A bolt flashed near him and he skidded face-first through the mud, his armor in flames.

            Jesse swallowed the trooper’s name and took a deep breath instead.

            “Now what?” Singer asked. “I can’t pull it back without losing balance.”

            “We’ve got to get above the droids.” Jesse motioned slightly with his head to where the droids where flitting between high branches, about level with their position. “Then pull the cable over the branch and stand on a lower one,” Jesse said, “So we have more leverage. And detonate the explosives after enough droids drift this way.”

            “It’s not going to blow the droids up. Not more than one or two anyway” Singer said. “It’s just going to get a lot of blood everywhere.”

            “I know,” Jesse said grimly.

            Singer looked down. “Alright. If I help you, can you climb?”

             “Yeah. Yeah, I can do this. Hang on to me for a second.”

            With Singer’s arm around his waist, Jesse was able to twist where he stood against the trunk and reach for another branch with his good arm. Carefully, he shifted his weight and grip. “Okay, let go.”

            Slowly, painstakingly, they moved from branch to branch. Jesse’s shoulders already ached after the first meter or so, but he kept going, Singer bracing him each time he had to reach for the next handhold.

            At last Singer stopped and threaded the cable gun over a higher branch. Jesse braced himself in a fork against the trunk, teeth clenched. He couldn’t see the forest floor anymore, just mist and the grey outlines of droids in the branches around them. A moment later, Singer followed and settled onto the branch beside him, clipping Jesse’s belt to his own before also clipping the rifle to them.

            “Now we can focus on hanging on.”

            “Right.” Jesse found a handhold. “Pull it up.”

            Singer flipped the switch to begin reeling the body up. Jesse hung onto the tree, feeling the resistance against his waist. The body slowly came into view, limp on the end of the cable. The droids, which had so far ignored Jesse and Singer, ignored the body too.

            “Now we wait, I guess,” Jesse muttered to himself, watching a squad of droids swoop down into the fog again. He could see in his mind how they scattered his brothers like twigs in the wind, all still out of range of the body swinging slowly on the line. “Can’t even take potshots from up here now that I dropped my blaster.”

            “I don’t get it, Jesse,” Singer sighed. “But until we get that body up here I don’t have another way for us to get down.”

            “We can’t fight the droids _and_ those huge bird…things!” Jesse hissed against the pain as he tried to shift his arm. “The scavengers are attracted to the smell of our blood. We get enough of _that_ on the clankers, maybe the scavengers will go for them instead of _us_.”

            “At least for a while,” Singer said, his voice a little lighter. “Yeah. I see… heh. Maybe you’re not crazy after all. But it’s still a long shot.”

            “Thanks,” Jesse sighed. “I just figured some of us might want to live through this battle, not dig in until the droids dig us out one by one.”

            “Can’t argue with that,” Singer said. “Look… the clankers are coming this way. But Jesse, we got a problem.”

            “What problem?”

            “I can’t aim my blaster at the body while the cable’s reeling up.”

            “Oh. I’ve got a detonator. Hang on to me.”

            “Got it!”

            Jesse let go of the tree and reached for it on his belt. He twisted off the safety and waited as the swarm of droids slowly, indecisively, shifted toward where they perched.

            “They don’t seem to have noticed us,” Singer whispered. Up here, the sounds of battle were already a bit quieter.

            “I hope this branch holds,” Jesse whispered back.

            Together they fell silent. The droids’ heads were pointed downward. The body was above the clankers now and Singer flipped the switch to halt the cable. But the droids were drifting so slowly, lazily across the branches, circling the battlefield. Still, their pattern seemed to be shifting this way. At any moment, the droids could notice them or the body and it would all be over.

            Screams still came from below. Jesse swallowed, his stomach aching now too. He heard himself breathing, and Singer too, their commlines held open. They sat as still as they could. The droid swarm flitted into the branches of their own tree, balancing lightly further away from the trunk and below.

            “Jesse,” Singer breathed, when nearly a hundred had gathered below them and begun firing.

            Jesse pressed the button.

            There was a flash of light, then its afterimage on his eyelids. The explosion itself blessedly blocked the gruesome sounds Jesse had imagined. A moment later he opened his eyes and saw the droids wheeling apart, their ranks broken, easy to see now in bright shining red. A few crashed into the ground, while others managed to stay afloat like drunken bees.

            The freed cable whipped toward them, spraying a small residue of blood into the air. It was mostly clear by the time it clanked into place on the end of Singer’s blaster. Jesse’s head pulsed, and he realized a moment later, when a phalanx of scavengers began grabbing droids out of the air, that the avians were all calling to each other.

            “I think it worked.” Singer sounded impressed, checking his armor for blood spatters. “Maybe we should try it again.”

….

            Kix yanked Jacky by the edge of his armor back behind the enormous tree. Unbalanced, they both fell as the blast shook them, carrying screams on the rumbling shockwave. Kix scrambled to his feet and ran out into the thick sheets of rain, his mind tracking the most likely places each trooper had been flung from where he’d last marked their positions by the smoking AT-RT. He had seconds before the blaster fire would begin again in earnest. Seconds that could mean the difference between reaching an injured trooper and having to leave him to his death.

            Someone groaned near his right foot, and he skidded and fell to his knees beside him, looking and feeling him over—no fractures that he could detect, likely some internal blast wave damage—before lunging forward to grab his outstretched arm and half carry him back toward better cover. Through the jagged distortions of the rain he thought he saw Jacky dragging another clone before the injured one he was hauling lurched awkwardly to his feet.

            “I-I can walk, go back for—” the trooper gasped, lurching toward the rocks, and Kix ran.

            Blaster fire sizzled with the rain again. He ducked around another large branch and pulled his rifle from off his back, taking out the three droids he could see clearest before running. The droids were flying lower now.

            A trooper moved about three meters away, halfway on his side, his arm at an odd angle under him. Dislocated shoulder at the very least. Kix’s boots sent mud flying. A wide red streak filled his visor and for a moment he thought he was dead, but his feet kept going, snagged by brush. A moment later he blinked past a warped line where his visor’s surface had melted.

            The man he was running for clawed at the mud with his good hand. When Kix was less than four strides away, a bolt jerked through the figure once. Kix heard a choked-off scream.

            “I got you!” Kix yelled, sending repeated shots at the mass of droids where the bolt had come from before dropping his rifle and hauling the trooper out of the line of fire, then propping his torso on his knees to take pressure off the injured shoulder. He checked the trooper’s throat: a faint pulse quickly dying, no breathing. He pulled the helmet off, bracing himself for who he might find. It could be anybody. It could be—

            Kix exhaled. He didn’t know who it was: standard haircut; no tattoos or scars; young. The head lolled back, face going slack. The shot had gone through his heart. Other troopers needed his help.

            “Kix?” a voice came over his comm. “Kix, come in. It’s Jesse.”

            “Jesse?” Kix called back.

            “We figured out a way to keep scavengers away from the wounded. Pour liquid tibanna on them. The avians hate it!”

            “I’ll tell the other medics,” Kix said gratefully. “Thanks, Jesse.”

            He laid the body down and put the dead rookie’s helmet on himself, discarding his damaged one just in time to grab his rifle and join the line driving the B1s back. Kix’s next target was cradling an arm and shoving himself backward with his legs, toward the shelter of two fallen trees.

            A sprint later, Kix crouched by his side, firing to cover the last push to get behind under cover. “Alright, trooper?”

            The trooper shook his head and knocked on his helmet with his good hand.

            Deafened by the blast. Hopefully temporary—Kix’s head was still ringing, too. The droids had no visible rocket launchers. He still didn’t know where that missile had come from.

            Kix checked him over—no serious bleeding, but when Index shakily took his helmet off Kix recognized him and heard the raw sound in his breath. One compound fracture in the arm, one sprained ankle. He gave him a shot of painkillers and checked his circulation.

            “Kix, this is Shadow,” panted a voice over comm, “I need some help over here! We’ve got serious blast wounds, open fractures!” Shadow recited some coordinates relative to their drop site. Much closer to the rendezvous than Kix was, now the fighting had spread out so much.

            “Copy that! On my way! Listen: LT repels the predators! The smell repels them!” When there was no response, Kix relayed orders to the rest of the medics, pulled Index a bit further aside and signed for him to stay put.  Then he picked up Index’s blaster, pulled out the LT cartridge and poured a fourth of it over Index’s feet and the ground around him.

            “Appo, this is Index,” Index coughed raggedly. “I’ve been incapacitated. I’ll advise what’s left of my squad to fall in with Linn’s platoon.”

            Kix didn’t stay to hear Appo’s instruction. The spaces between the trees were slowly being filled with straggling squads of droids, and if more were coming he might be cut off from the coordinates where Shadow was.

            Darting from cover to cover, he shot his way through the lower-flying droids with the help of brothers he couldn’t name or distinguish, falling one by one around him. It was a comfort and a stress not to know who was who between the upright and the down. Two, then three troops fell behind him, but a quick check confirmed them dead. Kix replaced the feeling of their dying pulses and breathless throats with the feeling of the rifle’s trigger.

            As they broke into another small clearing, piles of inert metal behind them, Kix saw a trooper nearby and to the left, yelling and shooting into the trees, but he had squad mates behind him. Kix headed right, toward Shadow’s coordinates.

            “WATCH IT!” The trooper screamed. “Mines! They dropped mines here! Sergeant Levi already stepped on one!”

            Kix stopped and followed the yelling trooper’s gestures toward the Sergeant, one leg gone below the knee, the other a mangled mess, a shard of bone protruding—there was a smear of red in the mud leading to where he’d been dragged that the yelling trooper was now kicking water over.

            “Scavengers!” the trooper said like a curse as Kix ran past him and knelt. “I don’t even know what those things _are_.”

            Booms and clatters came from the south, the battle moving away from their position. One bird, easily a head taller than Kix if it were standing, lay dead over a gnarled root, its neck and beak stained red, viciously clawed feet curled close to its black body and one grey wing awkwardly outstretched.

            “Did anyone give him painkillers already?” Kix asked as he dropped his pack. He took off Levi’s leg armor and applied a tourniquet to the worse leg, a pressure wrap to the other. Levi grunted in muffled screams, his upper body squirming a little.

            “Too busy holding the scavengers off. And the droids!” Avenger crouched by them and took off his helmet, his face blotchy, teeth bared. “Couldn’t let them get away with this!”

            Kix pulled Levi’s helmet off and gave him an injection, then another of antibiotics. The Sergeant’s face was screwed up against the hammering rain, teeth grinding as uneven breaths shuddered through his chest.

            “Hang on, Levi,” Kix urged, checking him more thoroughly. “Okay, we’ve got some pelvic wounds, but no serious organ damage. You can pull through.” Once done checking that his blood loss wasn’t deadly, he grabbed Levi’s bloody hand, gripped into a fist near his leg’s stump, and squeezed it tight. “You’re going to pull through, got it? That’s an order.”

            “G… ot it.” The words tore from Levi’s throat. Kix poured some of the LT out onto Levi’s armor.

            “WHAT are you _DOING?_ ” Avenger yelled. “You’re NOT going to blow him up like—”

             “Shut up, Avenger!” said another trooper standing by.

            “The scent keeps the scavengers away,” Kix said.

            “I told you,” the other trooper said.

            “Rrgh,” Avenger growled. “I SAW—”

            “I’ve got to move on, unless anyone else is alive.” Kix pulled his pack back on and looked at the other bodies around the clearing for signs of life. “If the way is clear behind us, one of you can carry Levi to walker ten— _not_ you.” Kix shoved Avenger away from Levi as he lunged forward.

            Avenger took a step back. “Oh. Right… Kix.” His determined look wavered, and Kix realized Avenger hadn’t known who he was, despite the symbol on his shoulder now marking him as chief medic.

            “I think Slots is still alive,” said a second trooper from a few feet away, crouching over the other body. “Barely. Birds took a good chunk out of him too.”

            Kix hurried over. Slots’ lower right side was a mess of useless tissue and armor fragments. The predator had gotten him, alright—Kix stared dully at the innards that had been pulled free. They seemed too clean, alien, sprayed by heavy rain as they were. No movement but a twitch in his empty left hand.

            “Nothing I can do,” Kix said, but it came out under his breath. He took off Slots’ helmet. The trooper’s eyelids fluttered, his lips already blue—no oxygen from his shredded lung. “Slots, can you hear me?”

            He was barely breathing. An awful gurgling cough came from his throat.

            “It’ll be over soon, Slots.” Kix put a hand gently on the trooper’s forehead and took a deep breath as he injected the lethal drug into the trooper’s neck. “Time to rest. You fought well. You did your duty. You saved your brothers.”

            More shots came from nearby, and curses from Avenger. Kix kept his hand resting lightly on Slots’ head until he felt the trooper’s trembling subside.

            He stood up. Avenger’s face was pale and pinched, but he put his helmet back on and nodded.

            “You two, take your sergeant to walker ten.” Kix pointed at them and gave them the coordinates. “The rest of you should keep moving toward the rendezvous point.”

            “Yes, sir.” The remaining troopers moved out.

             Shadow’s comm silence was more worrisome than reassuring. Kix set off, sweeping the area for mines, sloshing quietly through the growing puddles in an uneven scurry that slowed before each gap in the trees.

            “Shadow, this is Kix,” Kix called over the comm. “I’m heading toward you now.”

            “Copy that!” Shadow yelled. “I can’t reach most of the casualties yet. The other battalion’s been pushing the enemy ground troops this way. Approach from the northeast if you can manage it.”

            “Understood.”

            It was a quick, quiet march in the deafening rainfall. For the first time since they’d left the ship, Kix was alone in the trees. The flying droids seemed to have moved on. Distant explosions came louder, rippling large puddles between the tangled roots. He kept the LT cartridge open in one hand.

            What was exploding ahead? He hoped the AT-TEs had made it through whatever waited for them.

            He clawed his way through a thicket, paused at the top to look at the battlefield—the trees opening a bit, possibly a small foggy meadow—and slid down a steep bank in a spray of mud to join a platoon of troops who kept up steady fire from their sparse cover.

            “Shadow’s over— _over that way_ ,” one of them yelled, straining to be heard over a round of rockets that Kix still couldn’t place as their own or the enemy’s. He pointed with his rifle toward another dense group of troopers, and Kix could already see a few of the wounded laid out some meters behind the firing line. He ran, jumping over tree limbs. There it was again—the smell of blood and burnt flesh, everywhere.

            Panting, he arrived on the scene just in time to see Shadow join a charge into the open to retrieve the wounded—a blaster bolt jerked through the medic and he went down.

            “SHADOW!” Kix broke from cover, but the other medic was already moving again, staggering forward and pulling the nearest casualty back with his arms looped around his chest. “Shadow, I’ve got him!” Kix knelt and reached for the soldier.

            “The _other one_ , Kix!” Shadow’s voice was strangled. “I can do it!”

            A noise came from Kix that he didn’t mean to make, a wordless yell. Somehow he still ran for the smoldering AT-TE—Shadow’s wounded man must have got caught in the blast wave when the rocket hit it. There were a few more troopers down around it, and Kix knew from experience there was likely no one left living inside.

            “—rek Besh Cresh Dorn,” A breathy mutter came from the first trooper Kix knelt by, whose helmet was blown halfway off. “Once a baby bith… was…born.”

            “Oh, you’re alive, Quotes,” Kix sighed, looking him over. Quotes wasn’t the only trooper who used odd methods to distract from the pain. Shrapnel wounds covered his torso, and Kix carefully eased his helmet the rest of the way off and saw bloody cuts covering his face from where metal shards had pierced the faceplate. He tore open Quotes’ armor to analyze the discoloration and feel along the edges of the torso wounds. “Ahh… not good. You’ve got internal bleeding….”

            “Am I dead?” Quotes sputtered and licked rain off his lips. “Just do it if, if I’m dead.”

            “Hang on. I’m getting you out of here. Your legs are still good.” Kix hauled Quotes’ good arm over his shoulder and helped him to his feet, but the trooper’s shaking legs couldn’t hold for more than two steps. Another soldier ran to Kix’s side.

            “Alright, Kix?” he asked. “It’s Brick.”

            “Oh,” Kix said, as Brick helped him haul Quotes back through the smattering of blaster fire. “Good to see you, Sergeant.”

            “Glad you’re here. Duster’s platoon’s been hit pretty hard this time.”

            Together they laid Quotes down by two other critically injured patients.

            “Zip’s spine’s broken.” Shadow swayed as another soldier helped him sit beside Kix and Quotes. Brick ran off, calling for more men to help the wounded. “Not sure if we should call it. Can’t move any more troops—”

            “That’s right!” Kix snapped. “You’re a casualty now!” He stopped himself; he was shaking. Shadow was still alive. “Did they hit anything?”

            “Nothing vital,” Shadow panted. “Just my hip.”

            “You shouldn’t be able to walk.”

            “Adrenaline,” Shadow laughed shakily. “Can only go so far. So, Quotes….”

            “Is Zip stable?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Leave him for the evacuation team, then.” Kix gave Quotes a heavy dose of painkillers, and his muttering subsided into a whisper. “Quotes, we’re gonna try to get you out of here in an hour or so. Just hang on a little longer.”

            “Kay,” Quotes forced out, lips quivering. His breath started coming choppy.

            “Hey, hey, hey, it’s gonna be alright, brother,” Shadow said in a firm, soft voice. He took Quotes’ less injured hand while Kix did what he could to slow the external bleeding. “Just hold on.”

            Kix left them like that and ran out to retrieve the others by the walker. Kix checked two bodies on the ground, put a third trooper with an open brain injury out of his misery, and rushed up to the machine’s side as two troopers passed the lone survivor of the AT-TE’s interior into his arms.

            “Ugh,” said Bridges hazily a few moments later, as they carried him on a stretcher between them. “I’m not sure I’ll walk again, sir.”

            “That’s your concussion talking,” Kix said stubbornly. “I’ve seen troopers recover from worse.” Not many, Kix thought, looking at the exposed bone jutting out from his crushed legs, but some. Amputation might be more merciful. Bridges was good at operating machinery. Maybe the army would want him even without legs. Maybe.

            “Yeah! You’ll be running and jumping around in no time!” said the trooper holding the other side of the stretcher. Kix wondered if it was Rabbit.

            Bridges tried to laugh. Kix hoped that was a laugh. “Uhh, I’m gonna be sick….”

            “Almost there, Bridges,” Kix said.

            The battle was over for now, Kix realized. The clank of droid legs and the ping of blasters was replaced with the yells and squelching boots of his brothers reorganizing themselves and salvaging water and other supplies from the vehicles. The 501st wasn’t moving any further today.

            “Shadow,” he said over comm. “You’re primary contact for this CCP. Calling all medics: focus on retrieval to these coordinates. Shadow will triage from there. I’ll arrange pickup for Immediates. Commander Appo. Commander, this is Kix.”

            Kix jogged to check the vitals of bodies he passed. It took several calls before the Commander responded.

            “Appo here.” It was a harsh bark.

            “We need to request an evacuation for the worst of the wounded.” Ignoring the shiver in his stomach at Appo’s reply, Kix cut open an unconscious trooper’s undersuit to get a look at the shrapnel wounds, and began winding a pressure wrap. “There are at least a dozen who won’t survive unless we get them off the surface in the next three hours.” He grunted as he pulled the limp trooper’s shoulders up to reach his back. He’d lost a lot of blood. “We’ll probably need a couple of larties.”

            “Copy that… I’ll….” The line went quiet. “I’ll get to it.” Kix heard Appo yelling muffled, unrelated instructions to someone.

            Kix swallowed and cinched the wraps. “Sir, I can contact the fleet myself with your authorization.”

            “Oh. Of course.” Appo sounded distracted. “Go ahead, trooper.”

            “Thank you, sir. I’ll take a few troops and proceed with retrieval. Kix out.”

            Relieved that Appo hadn’t argued, Kix heaved the trooper over his shoulders and hurried back toward Shadow. A group of troopers ran up to him with two at their head, one with his arm held at an odd angle.

            “Kix! You’re alright! We can help. Where’s he going?” The other one transferred the wounded soldier to his shoulders.

            “Just over there, behind those trees,” Kix sighed. “Thanks.”

            “It’s Singer,” said the trooper who was holding the wounded now. He sounded like he was grinning.

            “And Jesse,” Jesse took off his helmet and smiled, strained and blinking rapidly against the rain. “We just got here and haven’t been assigned any other duties.”

            Relief made Kix weak for a second. He took his medpack off and opened it. “What happened to your shoulder?”

            “It’s dislocated. Dash gave me some painkillers and a relaxant, so maybe it’s ready to pop back in now….”

            Kix felt along it and grimaced. “There’s a lot of swelling. Can you move your arm?”

            “Yeah. I can still feel everything too.”

            “That’s good… that means your nerves weren’t damaged. Ready?”

            Kix braced his hands in place and felt Jesse take a deep breath. “Ready,” he said softly.

            It was over quickly, and Jesse let out his breath all at once.

            Kix laughed weakly. “You always hold your breath. It’s better to breathe, it lets the pain out.”

            “Sorry,” Jesse grinned sheepishly, feeling his own shoulder before Kix started binding it to brace it. Water dripped in a stream from his chin. “Thanks.”

            “I’ll see you when I get back. Gotta pick up the wounded that couldn’t be moved during the fight. If we leave them out there they might get eaten alive, even with the LT. These heavy rains could wash it out.”

            “Yeah? I’m coming with you,” Jesse said readily, even though his breath hitched a bit.

            “Lead the way.” Singer shifted the trooper’s weight on his shoulders and passed Kix a water pack. “I’ll drop him off, get some more of these and a few more men. We’ll meet up with you and Jesse over there.”

            Ten minutes later, with a fresh batch of coordinates from the other medics, Jesse and Kix had just finished their water. Singer came back with seven troopers. Silently they fell into formation and moved away from the relative safety of camp, trying to quiet the breathing that echoed in their damp helmets, rain warm on their faces like sweat.

            The clearing where Kix had found Avenger was silent, and Kix and Singer swept the way for mines.

            “That’s funny… there aren’t as many here as when I came through,” Kix murmured to himself.

            A mud clod crumbled off the side of the ravine and everyone froze. But then they saw a large reptile scurry out of sight. The rain was easing off.

            Someone started laughing and quickly hushed himself.

            “Wait a minute.” Kix raised hand, creeping ahead of them. They were almost to the spot where he’d left Slots’ body, now. “Hear that?”

            They all listened. It was faint.

            “Blaster fire?” Jesse asked.

            “Just one rifle, though.” Singer stepped closer to Kix, head tilted visibly. “One of ours, I think.”

            The sound paused for a moment after a small explosion, and carried on.

            They all looked at each other’s identical, expressionless helmets, their confusion showing in their posture instead.

            “Maybe someone got pinned down,” Kix said, and hurried forward. He rounded the corner, expecting to see Slots’ body. Instead he saw a pile of rocks and yet another dead scavenger lying nearby.

            “What the….”

            “Keep moving,” Kix commanded. “He might need our help.”

            At a junction Kix sent Mark and Shift to go retrieve a few troopers Jacky had left hidden, and the rest of them pressed toward the blaster fire that was getting louder all the time.

            “Definitely sounds like a DC-15,” Jesse said. “But it sounded more like a chain gun earlier. I’m surprised he hasn’t attracted the enemy’s attention by now.”

            “I left Index over there.” Kix motioned toward a clump of trees. “But let’s make contact with this trooper first….”

            They saw him as they came around a large boulder, a 501st trooper shooting the sodden ground in front of him methodically as he paced forward. No enemy in sight.

            “Trooper!” Singer yelled, and the trooper jumped visibly. “What are you doing?”

            “Checking for mines!” The trooper’s voice was hoarse.

            Something in his voice made Kix suspicious. He hurried toward him. “Take off your helmet! Who authorized you to be out here on your own?”

            Reluctantly, Avenger took off his helmet, eyes straying to Kix’s shoulder bell again as he approached. “Sir, I—”

            “You’re not a scout _or_ a medic!” Kix shoved him. “Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?!”

            Avenger slid and lost balance, dropping his helmet in the mud. He caught himself with one hand and stood, clamped his mouth shut, took a deep breath and averted his eyes.

            Kix tried to get control of his voice. “Well? Are you?”

            “Sir, I was trying to make sure nobody got—.”

            “That’s not your job!” Kix snarled before he could stop himself. He took Avenger by the shoulders and shook him hard. “Your job is to stay alive so I don’t have _one more_ person to patch up or add to the casualty list! What do you think is going to happen if you come out here _alone_ and start making noise?! There’s no excuse for this, Avenger!” Kix shoved him again, slamming his fists forward into Avenger’s upper chestplate. “If you want to be injured so badly then maybe I—”

            “Kix,” Singer said quietly; Kix barely heard him.

            “I just—!” Avenger dropped the gun and stepped back out of Kix’s reach.

            “I told you not to do this! I’m doing my best to keep you alive and _you keep acting like you’re invincible!_ ”

            “Sir, I—” Avenger’s face was blotchy. He took a quick breath. “I was just trying to make sure nothing else got to the wounded before you did.”

            “I should tell Appo,” Kix growled, breathing heavily. He knew he wouldn’t. Was suddenly aware of the other troopers at his back, listening… his fists ached.

            “Avenger,” Singer broke in quietly. “Were you the one who piled those rocks back there?”

            Avenger’s face was caught between defiance and fear, mouth open. After a moment of glancing between them he swallowed. “It was… eating Slots, sir. I couldn’t just—” His voice cracked and he stopped, clamping his mouth shut.

            “He’s not alive, Avenger,” Kix sighed roughly, trying to get back under control. “Trying to keep his body safe isn’t going to do any good.”

            “You think it’s a waste of time,” Avenger said, as if he disagreed. But his shoulders sagged and he looked down. “Maybe it was. I should have focused on the living. That’s what I was…first trying to do—”

            “I understand why you did it,” Jesse muttered. Everybody looked at him and he lifted his rifle in a helpless gesture. “Well, I do. That doesn’t mean it was right, I guess.” He looked at Kix.

            “Look,” Kix said. “Let’s just… go get Index. You wanna save lives, you follow orders! There aren’t any more mines in this passage anyway.”

            “Yes, sir!” Avenger snapped to attention.

            “And you’re still under orders not to lift anything heavy,” Kix reminded him with one last growl. “So you just watch for enemies while we’re checking him, got it?”

            “Got it, sir.”

            Index was sitting as tightly as his armor would allow when Kix found him, injured arm cradled, rifle resting on his knees with one finger on the trigger. He was so rigid and unresponsive at first that Kix almost feared rigor mortis, but it hadn’t been long enough.

            “Index. Index!” He waved a hand in front of the trooper’s helmet and took it off when there was no response.

            Index gasped and tried to push backwards into the tree before he relaxed, blinking blearily, pupils contracting. Maybe he’d fallen asleep once the painkillers kicked in.

            “Index, can you hear me?” Kix asked slowly, after he’d taken off his own helmet.

            “Can’t hear you,” Index said gruffly, squinting at Kix’s lips.

            Kix grabbed his head gently and looked in his ears. There was some dried blood. He ran a hand over the thin parallel lines of Index’s short hair, trying to reassure him nonverbally before digging in his pack for the datapad. Some distant part of him realized how at odds the gentle gesture was with how angry he felt.

            “Anything we can do to help?” Jesse asked.

            “Keep watch,” Kix barked, typing out a message to hold out to Index: _Your eardrums are ruptured but they will probably heal. Don’t worry. We’ll take you to camp._

Index’s face fell as he read the message. He nodded, regained his composure, and handed it back.

            “Now let’s see your arm,” Kix sighed, and carefully began to feel along it. It was shaking.

            “Never occurred to me to keep a pad like that in your medpack,” Singer said. “Is it just medical regs?”

            “Yeah,” Kix said automatically. “Mostly,” he added after a minute.

            “I uh….” Jesse cleared his throat but didn’t say any more.

            “Singer, I want you to take Index back to camp. Take Avenger with you.”

            “Yes, sir,” Singer said. “I’d be glad to.”

            “Kix,” said Avenger, coming close. “Sir. Are you going to tell the Commander?”

            Not if he was trying to keep Avenger alive. “I don’t know.” The anger began to settle in his stomach and he swallowed against the bile. Would Appo throw out a trooper for something like this? _Skywalker would._ He would follow regulation, even against his own captain. Kix finished wrapping the splint and stood back.

            “I’ll tell him myself, sir,” Avenger said quietly. “When we get back to camp.”

            “What?” Kix stared, and only just held back from ordering Avenger not to. If it had only been Jesse and Singer watching….

            Avenger’s voice was suddenly calm. “I’ve broken regulation and made things harder for you when I should be making them easier. I’ve got to face the consequences of that.”

            “If that’s really what you want.” Kix wanted to ask why he was doing this, but he’d already said more than he’d meant to.

            “I’m not dragging anyone else into this,” Avenger muttered, just where Kix could hear, before putting his helmet back on. “Lieutenant. Ready when you are.”

            Singer looked briefly between them before he nodded. He knelt and Kix helped him lift Index over his shoulders.

            “Good luck,” Kix said impulsively. “Don’t get shot on the way back. Or eaten.”

            Singer stood and saluted awkwardly. Avenger nodded once to Kix and fell in behind Singer.

            “We’d better keep moving,” Kix said to Jesse, and motioned to the others to scout ahead. Something seemed off about the way Jesse was holding himself. “Are _you_ hiding another injury?” he snapped. “I shouldn’t have let you come.”

            “What?” Jesse stepped away from Kix abruptly. “No. Kix….”

            “Well something’s wrong, and don’t lie to me!”

            “I wouldn’t,” Jesse said, sounding hurt. He dropped his voice, glancing at the others, and stopped. “Let’s take a break for a second. I thought you were going to punch Avenger. Are you feeling…uh….”

            Kix realized his sweat was turning a little clammy. He stopped and took a few deep breaths. Jesse was just trying to help. Of course he was… good, faithful Jesse. Maybe, Kix realized with shame, Jesse’s posture had more to do with the outburst toward Avenger than with any physical injury.

            “So,” Kix said awkwardly, “how’d you injure your arm, anyway?”

            “Oh.” Jesse paused. “I was, uh… Singer and I went climbing on our own mission.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I fell, Singer grabbed me—”

            “Your own mission? Did the Commander….”

            “He hasn’t said anything. Yet.” Jesse fell silent for a minute. “I guess I’m worried. Singer said he’d talk to Appo about it being my idea… but on second thought, I’m not sure I want him to.”

            “Singer’s a good friend. He wouldn’t say anything that would make the Commander think less of you.”

            “We’re supposed to tell the Commander anything he needs to know about the status of the men,” Jesse muttered. “Isn’t that what he said to you?”

            “Yeah….” Kix reminded himself to breathe and check coordinates. There were avian tracks all over the ground. He needed to get to the other wounded soon.

            “And Singer was the one encouraging us to bring Appo in on everything, so he’ll trust us.”

            “Jesse, don’t worry,” Kix said softly, wishing he’d spoken privately with Singer before sending him off. “The LT was a good idea. Whatever else Singer’s going to tell him will be fine. I trust the Lieutenant.” He tried to sound confident, for Jesse and himself. “And the Commander.” He could feel his body tense against the lie.

            “The LT was Afterthought’s idea, actually. I’m doing exactly the same thing Avenger is doing,” Jesse muttered. “Thinking I know anything better than what I was ordered to do. I could have made things worse!”

            “But you didn’t.” Kix put a hand on Jesse’s shoulder.

            “Well,” Jesse sighed, “it worked out _this_ time. But what if I’m just… pushing my limits, like him?” Jesse was nearly whispering. “Maybe _I’m_ still angry.”

            Kix felt his ears and neck still burning and could barely imagine Jesse feeling any more anger or dread than he did. But his voice was cool and almost weak when he listened to himself say, “Whatever you did gave the rest of us a better shot, right?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Then it was the right thing to do. Trust me, Jesse. That’s the only way I know for sure if _I’m_ doing things right. Singer and Appo will be smart enough to see it, too.”

             Kix picked up the pace. Jesse didn’t say anything, but his posture shifted a little as he walked, more toward what Kix knew was normal. It felt wrong to see him wearing the generic camo armor.

            “Yeah,” Jesse said softly, when they were approaching another wounded trooper. “Thanks, Kix. You’re probably right.”

            Kix heard the warmth in Jesse’s voice, felt him touch his shoulder in turn, and thought of Avenger, wondered what he would say and how Appo would respond. Maybe Singer would put in a good word for him. Maybe fearing for Avenger’s life was paranoid. But he remembered General Skywalker’s anger. Kix couldn't know what he would do anymore.


	25. Chapter 25

            Echo was sleeping when the order went through. Diode woke him through the network, and the first thing he saw—although it wasn’t really a visual—was the shift in the records. _ARC-0408_ was moved in the citywide records from _Experimental - Repairing_ status to _Termination_.

            Calmly, quickly, he rose, straightened his fatigues and walked toward the door, tracking the movement of Ilu Bai via the identity scanners in the lifts. It would take a few minutes for him to arrive. In those few minutes, he and Diode left their quarters and went into Sa Eno’s lab, where she was sitting with her head in her hands. It was an uncomfortable-looking posture for a Kaminoan.

            “You’ve already seen the order, Doctor?” Echo asked.

            Sa Eno jerked and straightened, blinking at him—her pupils contracted unevenly as he watched. It made him wonder if she’d been sleeping, or had a headache. “Unit Zero… what time is it?” She checked her workstation’s chrono. “You aren’t usually awake at this hour….”

            “Ilu Bai is on his way to inform you that I am to be terminated.”

            “What?” Sa Eno stood immediately and checked the files. “But we demonstrated that you were no longer a threat, or a weakness to the squad. Ti Me approved you for continued use!”

            “The demonstration of my new failsafes was not enough to convince Ilu Bai,” said Echo. “If I am to be terminated, you must make certain that the information about the chip is kept safe.”

            “I will think of something,” Sa Eno said, her normally smooth tone wavering. She moved restlessly in place, long hands raised at waist height, curling and uncurling the ends of her fingers as if not sure what to reach for, what commands to give the computers. “I _will_ think of something.”

            “He will be here in less than one minute. Should I return to my quarters?”

            “No…” Sa Eno sat back down at her computer and quickly closed certain files while opening others. “I will simply tell him that we have been doing further tests.”

            In silence Echo went to sit on the table, pushing down the unease that came at him from every unit in the squad. His own body was still not fully awake and he took a moment to carefully stretch his torso and shoulders. With all the implants under his skin to keep him alive, it was a slow process, loosening the muscles locked around them. Sa Eno stared at him, or through him.

            The door opened. Ilu Bai took one step inside and stopped, squinting at Echo and the four commandos lined up behind the table where he sat.

            “I did not expect you to be working at this hour,” said Ilu Bai. “Your quarters were vacant, so I came here. I suppose you should be commended for your diligence.”

            Sa Eno gave him a slight frown. “You came in person. I assume there is some important purpose for your visit?”

            “I’m afraid I’m here to collect your defective ARC trooper. After some deliberation, it has been decided that your modifications, while likely adequate—” Ilu Bai’s face shifted toward subtle skepticism “—would be better applied to another, uncorrupted clone. You may continue your research if you wish, but this unit must be terminated.”

            Sa Eno’s cold anger was hardly an act. She stood and turned off her terminal with a sour look. “It is naïve of you to think that this will accomplish anything but waste time and materials.”

            “Such is the command,” Ilu Bai said with a small smile and bow of his spotted, large-finned head. “I am only delivering the message.” He turned to look at Echo for a moment before straightening fully. It was a mystery to Echo why Ilu Bai seemed to take such pleasure in this. Ilu Bai was not bothering to speak in Kaminoan, knowing that he and the squad could hear every word.

None of them moved, their eyes simply following his movements, despite the fear that was rising from Diode.

            “I will need to extract the equipment,” said Sa Eno, her voice hushed and restrained. “It would be even more wasteful to discard such expensive technology. That will take some time, and I will need to select a replacement to transfer the implants to.”

            “I would be happy to bring you a replacement from the medical center,” Ilu Bai offered.

            “No.” Sa Eno’s mouth flattened for a moment, her eyes fastening on Ilu Bai. “I must select for specific physical criteria, to make the transplant most effective. It will be easier if I simply look at the records and have the droids retrieve them for me. Thank you for your offer, Ilu Bai.”

            “As you wish. Will a standard hour be sufficient?”

            “I believe it will.” Sa Eno’s voice was getting lower and quieter with each word.

            “I will return then.” Ilu Bai turned and left, slowly, gracefully. Deliberately so.

            Sa Eno looked straight at Echo as soon as the door was closed.

            “The room is secure,” Echo confirmed.

            “We don’t have much time.” She began accessing the files of defective clones. “Check the medical database. We will need two clones—one to stand in for you when Ilu Bai witnesses your termination, and one to officially be your replacement. I need the stand in to be as physically identical to you as possible. The official replacement can be any clone who is scheduled to be terminated today, as long as he is intact and his defect leaves him coherent.”

            “This is risky, Doctor,” Echo said, but obeyed, four-fifths of his mind already scanning the hundreds of files of clones who were slated for termination that day. He focused his full attention on it and weeded out large chunks by category: too young, too distinctive with scars and tattoos, the physical handicap did not match—

           “Found one. The marks from blast damage are similar to mine. Same vat month. No tattoos or other markings. CT-Twenty-Seven-dash-Twenty-Five-Zero-One. However, he is fairly incoherent.”

            Sa Eno pulled up his file on her computer. Her eyes scanned the text and images. “This one will work. You are also fairly incoherent without your implants to help regulate you. All I need to do is some superficial surgery to imitate what it would look like if I took out your implants.”

            “Is there sufficient time for that, Doctor?”

            “Can you make the records show that he has already been terminated, but bring him here immediately instead? Can you erase the memory of that from the droids who bring him?” Sa Eno put on gloves, took up her scalpel in one hand, and grabbed his wrist with her other.

            “Yes,” Echo said hoarsely. “Of course.” He immediately began sending the order. Through the eyes of a medical droid, he saw the scarred clone, incapable of walking, being sedated— _Terminated_ , his file now read—lifted from his holding table, arranged into a body bin and towed away quietly through a maintenance passage.

            “Numb the area,” she commanded him, and slit open the synthetic skin on his wrist only a second later. The skin was attached to his nerves, but his new self-regulating system made it easy to temporarily disable that. This arm had been burned so badly on that landing pad that it had to be partially reconstructed, his original ID chip destroyed and replaced. She pulled the newer one—a bit larger than a pinhead—carefully from its slot among the false tendons and veins. It went into a small transparent case.

            “Well… the synth skin will close itself within an hour.” Sa Eno fastened a small sterile strip over the incision and wrapped it. Echo pulled down his sleeve. “Have you found your official replacement?”

            Echo glanced over at the computer terminal, and Sa Eno followed his eyes, stepping toward it while she placed the chip and its case into a pocket of her belt.

            “Will Eighty-One-Twenty-Thirty’s immune deficiency be a problem?” Echo asked. “There are a few other options. Seventy-Fifty-Three’s temperament could be corrected by programming similar to mine.”

            “I do not foresee your replacement actually leaving Kamino,” Sa Eno said. She tapped 81-2030’s picture to send the official request for him to be brought to her lab. _Termination_ became _Experimental_ on 81-2030’s file.

            Meanwhile, 27-2501’s “remains” were pulled to a halt outside the door to Sa Eno’s lab. Echo opened it before the droid could hesitate.

            “Here is the body you wanted, Doctor,” it chirped as it hovered in, looking uncertainly around at Diode Squad and Echo. “Will that be all?”

            “Yes, thank you,” said Sa Eno dismissively.

            As soon as the droid had lowered the container to the floor and gone, Sa Eno took off the lid. “Put him on the operating table,” she ordered; 7723 and 7724 stepped forward to lift the clone out together. “Echo. I trust that you can find a safe place to hide for the time being?”

            “Yes,” Echo said abruptly, as he reached into the droid’s mind and tweaked a few files. “Should I sever the network once I’ve concealed myself?” A pulse of thought answered before Sa Eno could. “The squad will sever it if necessary.”

            “Go!” Sa Eno hissed, glancing up from where she was already cutting into the trooper’s skin. Blood welled up vividly from the lines of her scalpel. “Be careful to erase any trace of your movements. I will contact you as soon as it is safe for you to return.”

            Echo could see his own body turn and leave immediately through the eyes of Diode, and he blinded the hallway cameras one by one, pasting the same blank footage into each timestamp before he slipped safely into the darkness of a maintenance hatch.

…

            Thirty-two minutes after Unit Zero left the lab, Sa Eno looked grimly over her work. 27-2501 was breathing on the table, but shallowly, lying on his stomach. In a wide band around the back of his head, the skin was now raw with a few puncture wounds that correlated to where the main implant would have connected to the skull on Unit Zero.

            On his chest there were incisions, taped shut, where more implants would have been. On his stomach, and throat, the same. The damage to his back and limbs had had to be carefully re-sculpted, to show signs of surgery meant to remove prosthetics that had never in fact been installed. She only had one arm left to alter, and took a moment to clear away the blood from the latest step and think. She had never done so much surgery without a droid nearby to clean up after her.

             “The replacement is at the door,” said 7723 suddenly.

            Sa Eno took a deep breath, unwrapped the arm’s dressing and attached the circulatory monitor to the bare, half-healed crook of his elbow before pressing down with the scalpel on the edges of the ragged wound. The blood welled out and into the grooves of the table’s attachment beneath it, not nearly as fast as it would have if she hadn’t prepared the arm, but still a steady flow. The grooves pulled the blood down into a waste receptacle as she carefully tried to re-create with her tools the image in her mind.

            “Let him in,” she said, her eyes near slits. Her neck ached from tension, but her thinking was measured.

            In the corner of her vision, a clone entered, but with her attention on the texture of flesh and fluid through her gloves, all she immediately noticed was that his hair was mussed. It was odd, some part of her mind commented, that for all her interest in the sterility of robotics, she had become drawn to such messy projects. After so many days and nights spent putting Unit Zero back together, her familiarity with a clone’s biology was surely as intense and complete as those of her peers who had chosen to work on the Fett project directly. _Certainly better than Ilu Bai’s_ , she thought. His disgust toward the creatures would most likely be an advantage to her.

             “CT-Eight-One-Twenty-Thirty reporting as ordered.” The clone’s voice was soft and a little congested. He ended with a muffled cough, kept in the back of his throat.

            Two more seconds and she was done removing the last bits of tissue. She dropped them into the small waste bucket attached to the operating table and looked up.

            The commandos stared stoically at the new clone, whose eyes were fixed on the bucket. His face was drawn, and a sickly color, but his half-lidded expression was more distant than repulsed.

            “Sit. On table one,” she instructed, and turned back to cleaning up. As her mind surfaced from the intense concentration, she became acutely aware of the trooper’s unusual gait. He took shorter, more frequent steps than most clones. The soft, damp sound of wiping the last of the blood from underneath the trooper’s arm—missing half its flesh—the shallow breathing of the false Echo, and the table was clean, the bleeding under control.

            When Sa Eno disposed of her gloves and turned around, CT-81-2030 was staring at her calmly, but his hands gripped the edge of the table. His hair was only a little longer than standard, but it looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb in days.

            “Remove this,” she said, waving two fingers at the top of his fatigues. “I will need to attach some sensors.”

            CT-81-2030 obeyed with just a small contraction of his eyebrows. The fabric rustled loudly in the silence. He didn’t bother to fold it neatly, just draped it over the table, looked at Sa Eno and gave a tentative smile.

            “So… I take it I might not be dying today?”

            Startled, she stared back at him. She wasn’t sure a clone had ever smiled at her before. Perhaps it was deliberate on his part, but no clone over the age of four or five was inexperienced enough to think a Kaminoan could be won over by a smile.

            “No,” she finally replied, and pressed a sensor node to his chest. “You might not.”

            He breathed in suddenly through his teeth when the node sent its hair-thin wires into his body, but didn’t flinch when she attached the next one to the base of his skull, and another to his right temple.

            “You’re gonna try to fix me? You must be better than the techs in the med center. I’ve never been to this section before.”

            “I cannot promise any improvement to your immune system,” Sa Eno said. “Lie down.”

            “I know. No promises.” The clone leaned back on his elbows, lifted his legs up onto the table and lay down with a sigh. “But thanks for giving it a shot.”

            Sa Eno hesitated, and decided that denying what he said would only bring questions she didn’t want to answer so close to Ilu Bai’s arrival. So she stayed silent as she studied the data sent back to her terminal. His overall health was better than she had feared. He was underweight, but there was no notable deterioration in the musculoskeletal structure or brain, and his circulation was acceptable—she attached another node to his stomach and saw that his most recent ailments had taken their toll on his digestive tract. She checked the rash on his torso against his medical files. Possible infection, currently being treated with antibiotics.

            “Are you putting one of _th—ose_ things on my head?” He covered his mouth against a brief coughing fit, then pointed over at Diode, who were standing in an expressionless row, watching him.

            “Possibly,” Sa Eno replied. She strapped him down onto the table.

            He lifted his head to watch her do it, but didn’t struggle. “Oh,” he creaked. “This is going to hurt, isn’t it? Another one of those hypertests?” He sighed and let his head fall back, screwing up his face. “Alright.” He swallowed, his voice weary and resigned. “I’m ready.”

            A voice came from behind her. “It won’t be painful.”

            Sa Eno looked up from checking the straps. It was one of Diode Squad who had said it.

            “You would be anesthetized for the operation,” added 7722. “And your medical log shows that your most recent hypertest took place in the last forty-eight hours. There’s no need for another one so soon.”

            “Oh.” Another weak smile at Sa Eno. “Well, that’s good.” His head jerked up suddenly. “Wait. You… _you_ looked at my med logs?”

            7722’s eyes widened a little; he looked at Sa Eno.

            Sa Eno studied 7722, but of course there was little she could glean from his expression or posture. Perhaps he was asking how much he was allowed to reveal.

            “Unit Two.” She tried to make sure her voice didn’t sound condemning, merely curious. “Are you trying to comfort this clone?”

            7722 blinked; his eyes moved in thought. “I corrected his false assumption.”

            “Because you thought he was afraid.”

            “Unit Zero approved the action,” 7722 added quietly.

            “Well,” said 81-2030, “Pain’s fine. But I’m a little confused. Unit Zero? Unit Two?” His eyes flicked between the numbered fatigues Diode wore. “You’re not just cadets getting fixed up so you can go back to training? Are they some kind of lab assistants, Doctor?” 81-2030 looked up at her curiously.

            “They are a specialized commando unit,” she said, again startled by his directness.

            “Commandos?” He squinted at them. “They’re not even full grown.”

            She pushed his unruly head gently back down onto the bed just as 7722 said “Ilu Bai is coming.”

            “I am ready,” she replied, activating the sterilization units in the wall. Her skin felt unnaturally tight. 81-2030’s forehead had burned with fever under her fingers.

            When Ilu Bai came in, he wasn’t alone. There was another small medical droid with him. Sa Eno held her body still, kept her face calm, although the sight of it made her deeply uneasy. Did he suspect what she was doing? Ilu Bai walked up to the clone on the table and his face lengthened even further in disdain.

            “Not much to look at now, is he?” Ilu Bai said lightly, his mouth curling. “Exceptionally revolting, in fact. I imagine _this_ is much the same as he looked when you first… salvaged him.”

            “It was a worthwhile effort,” she whispered, then raised her voice. “Let us proceed.”

            Ilu Bai waved the med droid forward, but it didn’t take out the lethal hypo. Instead it scanned the clone on the table. Sa Eno knew Ilu Bai was watching her—she kept her eyes fixed on Echo’s replacement, focused carefully on how much she despised Ilu Bai rather than the fear of discovery. She was aware of her own rigidity. Let him think it was because her research was about to be crippled.

            “You were able to remove all of the equipment?”

            “It is being sterilized now.” Sa Eno waved a hand at the units on the wall, hoping that if Ilu Bai chose to investigate, he would be satisfied by the sight of the prototypes of Echo’s current implants, and would not look too closely. “Anything that can be reused.”

            “Where is the ARC trooper’s identification?” Ilu Bai wrinkled his entire narrow face at the sight of the clone’s cut-up arm, and turned away to glare at Sa Eno.

            “It was embedded in the prosthetics.” Sa Eno let exasperation make her voice a little less smooth, and pulled it from the pocket on her belt. “I did not realize you had any need for these after the clone’s termination. His record has been synced with the database.”

            Ilu Bai took the chip impatiently and held it at shoulder-level for the droid hovering behind him to scan. Echo’s file lit up the air, the deployment record split into two sections from before and after his restructuring.

            “That guy was an ARC trooper?”

            Ilu Bai and Sa Eno both jerked around to stare at 81-2030, who had lifted his head again and was straining to read the file. Ilu Bai’s hand snapped down—the hologram died.

            “ _This_ is your new Unit Zero?” He looked 81-2030 dead in the eye; the clone laid his head back down so fast his jaw clicked shut.

            “Yes,” Sa Eno said, outwardly calm and surprised at how quickly that calm was straining. “I am evaluating him now so that I can adjust the implants to suit his body.”

            “What a… pattern, I am observing,” Ilu Bai said softly. “You seem to enjoy rescuing creatures that are too broken to be useful.” He looked back and forth between Diode and the clone on the table. “I suppose you will argue that this one’s particular deficiency presents… a _unique opportunity to study how illness breeds insolence_. Certainly your last one was not very reliable either.”

            “There was no deficiency in ARC-Zero-Four-Zero-Eight,” said 7723 in a clear, strong voice. “He was more than capable.”

            A silence stretched on as both Sa Eno and Ilu Bai stared at the young commando. She was so shocked at the statement that she opened her mouth and drew breath to reprimand 7723, but knew that if she did, Ilu Bai would only insult her for having no control over her own creations. Let him think she intended this. What Unit Three said was relatively true.

            “As I said,” Ilu Bai growled softly, his head lowered, neck curving aggressively. “ _Insolence_. Perhaps your squad should be sent back to my training grounds. They seem to be getting out of hand.”

            He signaled the droid forward, toward where “Unit Zero” lay on his stomach, barely breathing. Sa Eno watched Ilu Bai’s left hand. It was closed around the shock gun at his belt, which was also the side nearest the squad. But they were behind 81-2030’s table.

            “I suppose it is your right to do this,” Ilu Bai said, his tone falsely gentle. His neck and then the rest of his spine straightened out. Slowly, he offered her the lethal hypo he had just taken from the droid.

            The revulsion that gripped her was so startling that she didn’t move a muscle for three seconds, trying to understand what could possibly cause such a reaction in her. This clone was going to die today whether she administered the euthanasia or not. She had not balked at disfiguring his body, or at the idea of using him as a stand-in in the first place. She had no illusions about how many clones were terminated in this facility on a regular basis—0408 had mentioned the figure offhand once, during one of her first attempts to gauge the range of his networking abilities. Perhaps this revulsion was simply a growing hatred for Ilu Bai and his childish ego, his unprofessional delight. In that case, she could not stoop to his level.

            “Thank you,” she said, with as much cool sincerity as she could muster, and curled her fingers around the hypo. She turned her back to where 81-2030 watched with wide eyes, the squad impassive behind him. 27-2501 let out a small, vulnerable sound when she took his shoulder and rolled him onto his back, but his eyes did not open, although his body shuddered once.

            She injected the hypo into his chest, near his heart. His breathing slowed, he twitched—flinched, more accurately—and went completely limp.

            She motioned to the droid. “Take his body to disposal.” The container 27-2501 had come in was still sitting on the floor, and 7721 and 7724 stepped forward to pick up the corpse and set it inside so that the droid could tow it away.

            When it was done, Ilu Bai walked to the door and paused to look back at Sa Eno. “Good luck, Doctor,” he said in Kaminoan. “I wish you success. If you need any help with your clones, you know where to find me.”

            The way he said it— _your clones_ , in Kaminoan—implied clones of Sa Eno’s own genotype. The droid pulled the body bin out into the hall after Ilu Bai, and the door slid shut.

            Sa Eno let herself breathe and looked at 81-2030 first. “It was foolish to speak out of turn and draw attention to yourself!”

            “I-I, uh….”

            “And you,” she said to Diode Squad. “What did you hope to accomplish by contradicting Ilu Bai? Why would Unit Zero approve of such a statement?”

            “It would have been the expected reaction if Echo really were to be terminated,” 7723 said. “He would not be here to restrain our emotional responses in the same way.”

            “It was all part of the act?” Sa Eno said, not sure whether to be skeptical or impressed.

            “Question, Doctor,” said 81-2030 meekly.

            “Ask it,” she sighed, surprised at how shaken she felt. She sat down at her work station, just staring at his medical files.

            “Who’s Unit Zero?”

            She pinched the base of her skull, rubbed her hand up and down the curve of her neck. “You are, now.”

            “And that guy who was on the other table, he’s not really dead?”

            “He has been terminated. His body will be incinerated.”

            “Then Echo is somebody else?”

            Sa Eno thought for a long moment. It was difficult. She felt her exhaustion bearing down now, the physical discomfort that had been afflicting her for weeks overcoming her usual sharpness.

            “You are unusually direct for an eight year old,” she said.

            “I got lots of practice talking to doctors and medics,” he replied. “I mean no disrespect. I know you’re trying to help me. Also I might need to run to the refresher soon. It’s been long enough since I last tried to eat, and it’ll probably try to come out one end or the other in a minute.” He sighed, staring up at the ceiling with a miserable look, and cleared his throat. “That’s just the way it goes these days.”

            “You will refrain from being so friendly with Ilu Bai, if you want to avoid what happened to the first Unit Zero,” Sa Eno advised.

            81-2030 grimaced and looked over at the empty table with open dread. “He got put down for being too chatty? I thought it was his injuries.” He paused. “Oh. You’re joking, I get it. Well, Ilu Bai doesn’t seem like the type that anyone can be friendly with.”

            Sa Eno frowned at him. “No.”

            “How long until Unit Zero is able to return, Doctor?” 7723 asked quietly.

            “I thought Unit Zero was dead,” 81-2030 said. “Or I’m Unit Zero, right?”

            “Hush.”

            “How long until Echo is able to return?” 7723 corrected.

            “I need to think.” Sa Eno put both hands to her head and walked to the furthest corner of the room.

            Thankfully, the clones stayed silent for several minutes while she calmed herself. After a while she was able to refocus.

            “Where is Ilu Bai?” She took her hands off her head, still staring at a large tissue analysis unit on the wall.

            “He is returning to his area of the facility,” said 7723. “He has already entered the main lift and shows no sign of deviating from this course.”

            “If Echo can return to the lab safely, he has my permission.” She turned and walked back to 81-2030. “I am going to run a few tests. Do you need to use the refresher now?”

            “Well, no… but that could change in two seconds.” Again, that weak smile, almost a grin this time.

            The tension in her stomach had nothing to do with 81-2030’s illness. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to order in droids to clean up a clone’s vomit.

            “Echo should return to quarters, rather than the lab,” Sa Eno said. “Call a medical droid here as soon as he has safely returned.”

            Diode was silent. 81-2030 sighed and laid his head back. “So what kind of tests, if it’s not hypertests?”

            “I will be exposing your body to various frequencies, and you will tell me if you feel any different.”

            “Oh. That’s new.” 81-2030’s weary face looked hopeful. He sighed softly—with some difficulty—through his nose and shifted a little under the restraints, settling in. His eyes closed.

            Sa Eno tried to focus over her growing discomfort. “Diode, I will need your holotransmitter.”

            “Unit Zero has it,” said 7723.

            “I do?” 81-2030 opened his eyes but again looked at Sa Eno rather than at Diode. “Oh, they mean Echo. Wouldn’t it make more sense to go by nicknames, if there’s more than one Unit Zero? The other rookies I was deployed with called me Green, if that helps.”

            “We have no nicknames, Green,” 7723 said simply.

            “Well, you’re young, right?” Green said gallantly. “I only just got settled on this one. Even something like Green is better than going by a number all the time, at least that’s what the guys in my squad told me.”

            “Echo,” Sa Eno said, looking at 7723. “Please bring your holotransmitter to the lab before you go to quarters.”

            “Yes, Doctor,” 7723 said, his voice just a touch quieter than before. Maybe she imagined it.

            “In the meantime, I suppose… I could….” Sa Eno trailed off and sank down at her terminal to look at the data from Green’s body. She flicked through five graphs without really seeing any of them. What was her mind doing? She tried to focus but found herself listening for Green or the commandos to speak unexpectedly again. Her dislike for Ilu Bai was uncomfortably strong, but there was something more to it, an inner pressure that increased every time one of the clones spoke out of turn.

            At last the door opened, and Echo entered. He walked up to her and offered the holotransmitter without saying a word. She took it and immediately turned it on.

            “If the signal that activated Echo's chip was sent through a holotransmitter like this, that means the activating frequency must be one which it is capable of producing,” she said half to herself. “Tell me if you feel any changes,” she added, louder so Green could hear.

            “Right.” He closed his eyes again. He’d been staring at Echo, probably comparing him to the hologram his chip had produced.

            Sa Eno fiddled with the settings for a moment, then stood, placed the device in Green’s hand and began painstakingly cycling through frequencies, shifting very carefully between each one for about thirty seconds. She shifted her gaze to her computer, where his brain waves were being monitored.

            “I think the pain in my abdomen is going away,” Green said. “No, wait… there it is again. But maybe my fever’s breaking… you know, I was feeling really good around graduation, about forty one days ago, I thought Liha Ge finally fixed whatever’s wrong, because she was giving me these long bacta treatments and tried monitoring my nutrition and it looked like it was really helping, but—”

            “Quiet, please,” Sa Eno said. A sense of futility was overtaking her. This would never work.

            “Right.” Green cleared his throat.

            “Doctor.” That was Echo’s soft croak behind her. “It will take at least seventy hours to test all the main frequencies that transmitter is capable of relaying. Your quarters have not been accessed by you in nearly forty. If you intend to continue with this method, you must rest and eat.”

            “I have been eating.” She gestured to her pockets, which held only empty nutrient containers now.

            “I can wait,” Green said. “Just show me where the ‘freshers are and I’ll stay out of everyone’s way.”

            “I will investigate other options while you rest, Doctor,” said Echo.

            The offer stung. She knew this was unlikely to yield any results, but no other options came to her muddled mind. The dimensions of her lab were suddenly too confining. She rose.

            “Alright,” she said in defeat. “I will rest. I trust you will watch for any problems….”

            “I am monitoring everything,” Echo said simply.

            She rose and looked around the room, taking in all six of them. Green lifted a hand, despite being strapped onto the table. He almost looked as if he were reaching for her.

            “I’ll be here when you get back,” he said, almost cheerfully.

            Sa Eno turned and walked out, still unsure why the sight of them all staring at her unsettled her so. She was used to Echo and Diode watching her. Adding one more clone to that mix should not affect her at all. But something in her thinking had shifted. She was too tired to decide on what it was.

…

            After Sa Eno left, 7721 went up to Green and took over the job of adjusting the transmitter’s frequency. Green stared at him for a minute before closing his bloodshot eyes and turning his head slightly in the other direction.

            It was silent for nearly an hour, while Echo thought and kept an eye on the corridors and lifts near the lab. Sa Eno had clearly intended Green to be a test subject for any method she could think of to study the chip. There was only so much they could do without a living, implanted clone to work with. He wondered whether she truly planned to join 81-2030 to the network for more precise observation.

            There was a change in Green’s breathing.

            “Wake up.” 7721 pushed on his shoulder.

            Green jerked and blinked blearily. “O…oh. Sorry… do I have to be awake for this?”

            “Sa Eno asked you to report any changes.”

            Green moved his arm and seemed startled to remember he was strapped down. “Right… maybe that frequency put me to sleep.”

            “Unlikely.”

            “You know… I’ve had doctors and medics try a lot of different things to fix me. But this has got to be the weirdest one.” Green made a face. “Eh… I think I better head to the refresher now.”

            They hesitated for only a moment before 7721 and 7722 unstrapped Green from the table and led him toward the unit between the lab and their quarters.

            “So what’s the story with you?” Green asked as they left the lab, he with his tight shuffling steps. “Are you as young as you look?”

            Another small query from the squad—Echo approved. It felt more like having an impulse and deciding only a moment later to act on it.

            “Diode Squad is physically the youngest active squad of commandos,” explained 7722 for all of them. “Unit… Echo is nearly twelve. The four of us were evaluated for experimental status in our fourth year and underwent the surgery when we reached five years.”

            “Surgery? For this thing?” Green moved to touch 7721’s cranial implant, but stopped short when 7721 stepped abruptly away. “Oh. Sorry. I thought it was just some kind of device for medical diagnosis….”

            Diode said nothing, and Green grimaced—“Sorry”—and hurried shakily into the refresher.

            Echo reached to make sure Sa Eno was actually in her own quarters. She seemed to be. Beyond that he couldn’t be certain that she was resting. Ilu Bai had gone back to training potential ARCs and commando squads.

            He reviewed the data from the nodes Green was still wearing. Judging from the chemical balance of his brain, the trooper was experiencing several emotions simultaneously. Echo could only guess how much of that was due to the myriad illnesses his body was fighting. He was certainly in pain.

            At long last Green came out of the refresher. His complexion, if possible, looked even more grey than before. “Well, I don’t know if any of what I ate actually got digested. It was all reddish and hot, I hope I’m not bleeding….”

            “Your digestion is suffering from constant antibiotic use,” 7722 said.

            “Oh… I’ll just have to live with it, then,” Green creaked and leaned against the wall for a moment, hands pressed into his abdomen. His shaking breaths were easy to hear, and when he raised his head there were tears coming from his eyes. He wiped them on his sleeve and cleared his throat noisily. “Can I just… sit down here for a second?”

            “No. We can carry you back to the lab.” 7721 crouched by Green’s legs while 7722 put his arms around his chest in preparation to lift him.

            “Wait, no.” Green pulled halfheartedly at 7722’s hands. “No, that’s—that’s okay, you’re just cadets. Sorry, not cadets, but… you’re younger than me.”

            “We can support you while you walk, if you prefer.” 7722 pulled Green’s arm around his shoulders instead. 7721 went to his other side.

            “No, I’m—sorry, I’m fine.” Green sniffed loudly and stepped forward, but 7722 and 7721 held onto his arms. “Sorry for crying in front of you. I know most troopers—it’s… uncomfortable.” He gave a noisy grunt, half clearing his throat. “I’ll never have as much control as everyone else but I’ll try not to complain so much. Honestly, I’m lucky to be alive, I know I am.” His voice broke and he struggled to get it under control. “They could have given up on me a long time ago but they didn’t.”

            Impassively, 7721 and 7722 pulled Green forward, back into the lab. Echo and the other two Diodes were standing exactly as they’d left them. Once Green was sitting on the table, 7722 fetched him some of the same type of disposable towels that Sa Eno had used to mop up the blood from her operation, and Green cleared the various fluids from his face while they scanned his abdomen.

            “The medical database suggests consuming probiotics,” said Echo quietly.

            Green curled up on his side on the medical table before he turned onto his stomach with his knees tucked under him, then onto his back, clutching his belly. He didn’t say anything, just breathed very carefully, eyes nearly closed.

            “I will see if I can order a nutritional packet,” Echo added. “Rest is advised. Unit One and Two will take you to quarters.”

            Again, nothing but sick, shallow breathing. His eyes were screwed shut now. Echo saw a new adrenaline response, through the nodes. Perhaps Green was afraid. Of what remained unclear—the most present threat to his life had passed. He seemed to be nauseous.

            As 7721 and 7722 helped him sit up, Echo noted that Green’s breath smelled like bile. Green reached unsteadily for the top of his fatigues, still draped on the table; his other hand touched the node on his chest, and he looked 7722 in the eyes.

            Green’s voice vibrated slightly with the rest of him. He didn’t try to smile, as he had for Sa Eno. His expression was one of sheer exhaustion. “Can you take these off?”

            “It will be better to leave them on so we can monitor you. If there is any sudden change we will be able to call a medical droid more quickly. Or the doctor, if necessary.”

            Green pulled the top over to himself but didn’t put it on, just holding it to his chest, draped over one of his arms as he hunched over. Slowly, he slid off the table and the two commandos helped him walk out of the room. Echo stayed in the lab with 7723 and 7724, still reaching for options while monitoring the facility, and watching Green through the eyes of the other two.

            Sa Eno had settled on some kind of communications frequency as the cause of the chip’s initial activation. That seemed a reasonable conclusion, considering the Verpine virus as the catalyst to the conflict between Echo’s own chip and implant. But the deadlock had not been broken by Rex’s communication to Skywalker, only afterward, by a pre-recorded message from the chancellor. A pre-recorded message would not have borne any unique transmission frequency. It must have been something in the message itself that activated it.

            There was no way to analyze the digital make up of the message. It had been received on Rex’s holoprojector, which had probably been destroyed or wiped and passed on to someone else. All Echo could do was review the memories of what had been said, but there was no special pattern to the chancellor’s wording that he could detect. His own renewed alertness had occurred the moment he heard the chancellor’s voice.

            This was all futile. Analyzing the chip on its own had so far yielded only what they already knew, although in more scientific detail—what it did, but not how it was activated. They could try to re-create what had happened on Anaxes, if they gave Green a similar cranial implant, but most clones did not have cranial implants of that type. Perhaps the path by which Echo’s chip had been activated was unusual. No, they needed to find a way to activate it without any sort of technological enhancement to the test subject.

            Green was laid on his back on the lower half of Echo’s bunk. “You don’t have to stay with me,” he said dully. “The doctors say no clone with a normal immune system will get really sick from being around me, but nobody wants to stick around to find out. I don’t blame them.”

            7721 and 7722 didn’t move. They watched Green until he rolled over and curled up with his back to them.

            That lasted nearly eleven minutes before he sniffed, sighed loudly and glanced over his shoulder at them. “If you’re commandos, don’t you have something better to do?”

            They considered, for a moment, how to reply. “You are crucial to our continued operation,” said 7722. “We are currently off active duty because of an unexpected malfunction.”

            “In your…?” Green rolled onto his back and gestured toward their heads.

            7722 nodded. “In Unit Zero’s interface. We will be doing various tests on your brain to ensure it won’t happen again.” True enough.

            “Well, all the doctors say my brain’s just fine, even if I talk too much….” Green frowned and folded his hands on his stomach. “So what are those things for?”

            “Networking. Data processing. Everyone in the squad is connected. We can access everything each of us experiences at any time.”

            Green’s eyes widened. “You mean that Echo guy is listening to our conversation?”

            “He is directing our conversation.”

            “But… but you’re all still _individuals_ , right?” Green started to sit up but then seemed to think better of it. He looked a little panicked.

            Echo hesitated in approving a response, long enough for Green to make a very soft choking noise. Most of Echo’s attention was currently turned toward reviewing the few files he’d managed to access about the chip’s installation before, hoping that if he cross-referenced enough of his own knowledge and the available files on Kaminoan language, he might find or realize something he had not before.

            “She’s going to put one of those things in my head?” Green asked. “And make me part of this big droid brain?”

            “Possibly.”

            Green’s heart rate had nearly doubled. 7721 crouched by his bedside and pulled at his elbow to try and ease him back down.

            “It’s not painful,” 7722 reminded him.

            “I-I guess if… if I’m not curable, you wouldn’t want....” Green stopped and opened his mouth, as if he saw something amazing on the underside of the upper bunk. “Wait. I wouldn’t be a commando too, would I?”

            “If you were cured and completed the proper training, it’s possible.” They would have to ask Sa Eno explicitly how much of their actual plans they could trust to Green. “We don’t know all of Sa Eno’s intentions for you.”

            “A commando. Heh. I can’t even imagine it.” Green’s voice went suddenly quiet, almost timid. He looked straight at 7721. “What’s it like, being connected like that?”

            “We are capable of accomplishing much more than any of us could individually,” said 7721.

            “Have you ever even been lonely?” Green looked at the upper bunk again.

            There were several Kaminoan words Echo kept encountering that he could not translate at all. Similar sounding word meanings were completely incongruous with the written sentences he found them in. He could not yet find them in any memory of any conversation he’d overheard, but he kept looking.

            Green rubbed at his eyes restlessly and sighed.

            “You know, when I was younger, the first time I got sick, I was sure I was gonna die. But then they fixed it, and I kept training. And then,” he sighed, “it happened again. I thought that was definitely it. I’m not going to be a soldier. But I got better again. I got better fast enough that they said I was still normal. The other cadets, they always… got quiet when it happened, or when I talked about being sick, and I could feel it. Like they all just stopped seeing me.” His voice lowered to a mutter. “They thought I might disappear too. They’d heard about other sick cadets disappearing. But the doctors kept trying on me, you know. They believed I could make it more than my own brothers did.”

            The most frequent word had a root sound that seemed linked with either water or sameness. But that was all Echo could yet discern.

            “I actually thought I could make friends with my squad when I graduated.” Green huffed weakly and kept rambling, eyes moving along the bottom of the upper bunk aimlessly. “I picked out the guy I thought I would really get along with. The one who’d really watch my back. But by the first night on the field I was puking my guts out. The only person who really talked to me much after that was the medic. He said this happens once in a while but it’d pass in a few hours. I almost died waiting for that to happen, and….”

            Green went quiet suddenly and glanced at 7721, still kneeling with a hand on his elbow. He closed his eyes, his forehead creased, although they couldn’t tell if it was from the pain in his stomach or something else. Their attention immediately went back to the problem of the chips.

            About an hour later, Green finally fell asleep again.

…

            Five hours in, Echo was using a rigged interface with his holotransmitter to access data files from the nearest ships and space stations and beyond, adding to a compilation of data on human neurology and cybernetics that he’d begun more than a week ago. It took a great deal of concentration to keep the connection masked and secure.

            Green was still sleeping, sweaty with fever, when Echo became aware that Sa Eno had left her quarters and was heading for the lab.

            “Doctor,” Echo said, as soon as he’d unlocked and opened the door for her, “did you sleep?”

            “I know where to look!” she exclaimed, her fists striking an exuberant gesture Echo had not seen her use since the day he was successfully joined to Diode. He closed and locked the door and she stopped abruptly, staring at the empty table. “Where is the other clone? Green?”

            “He is sleeping,” Echo murmured.

            “Oh.” Sa Eno looked troubled for a moment but it quickly passed. “No matter. That form of testing was unlikely to succeed. Best not to waste time. I must make arrangements.” She stepped toward her computer.

            “What is your plan? I have continued compiling data from other scientists—”

            Sa Eno made a sharp, dismissive gesture. “No. That is precisely the issue! I cannot believe I didn’t see it before. This chip was designed by Kaminoans, building upon previously existing Kaminoan technology. Other scientists’ methods are a distraction. Trying to reinvent it ourselves is a waste of time when we could merely ask for answers.”

            Echo felt some alarm, quickly dampened. “Doctor, who do you think we can trust with this?”

            “I won’t reveal all of my reasons for asking, of course,” Sa Eno said, accessing communications. Echo watched as she sent a message into what looked to his mind like a void. He could not follow it to its destination, could not detect what network it was accessing. He could only read its contents.

            _Sa Dio, Sa Eno. I would visit as soon as possible, for scientific collaboration._

            “Have you slept?” he repeated.

            “What?” Sa Eno looked at him from where she sat, distracted. “Of course. A few hours, perhaps.”

            “Are you certain it would not be wiser to sleep more before making plans?”

            Sa Eno stood, pacing slightly. It looked odd, such an agitated gesture in such fluid motions. “I will have time once the plans are made. I must get a response before my sister sleeps.”

            “Where is your sister?”

            “In Derem City,” Sa Eno said. She looked excited, hopeful—Echo could only suppose her few hours of sleep had refreshed her more than he’d thought possible.

            “And she studies implants like this?”

            “Not exactly, but she knows people who will be familiar with what I need to know,” Sa Eno said dismissively. “Hmm. I will have to take Green with me, somehow. That will be the most challenging aspect….”

            “Doctor, I was wondering if I might ask for a translation of a Kaminoan word.”

            “Of course.” She barely looked at him, a finger resting against her mouth in thought.

            He brought it up on her terminal, not wanting to mistake the pronunciation. She moved over to read it and blinked slowly.

            “Oh. That. There is no direct translation…. Where did you find this word?”

            “In the Fett project planning files. It was in a sentence describing, I think, the basic concept the chips was built upon. But I can’t be certain.”

            “Really! I would not be surprised, although it would be incredibly crude to refer to your chip’s purpose with this word.” Sa Eno settled back into the chair, and even in her stillness she looked restless. “It means… well, it refers to a method of communication. And a sense of relation. In its simplest form I suppose it might be translated as a sort of mental reflection.”

            “Reflection on what?” Echo asked.

            “Not _on_ anything. Reflection _of_ thoughts. It… is so difficult to describe in Basic. But it is similar to what occurs between you and the rest of the squad when deciding a course of action. Show me the file.”

            “I can only safely copy part of what is in the file,” Echo said. “Actual transfer may alert someone. Just a moment.”

            Sa Eno stared at her screen, the long fingers of one hand brushing absentmindedly and rhythmically against the backs of their opposites. Echo finished composing the paragraph and sent it to Sa Eno’s computer. She went still, reading.

            _Base model of secondary inhibitive augmentation:_ and there was the word. _Reflection_ , Echo decided, for lack of a better translation. _Reflection model. Narrow reception, single—_ and another word Echo wasn’t familiar with. _Zero receiver control to Reflection once sent._

            There was more, detailing the site in the brain where it was to be implanted, and many references to surgical procedure which he could not find actual instructions for anywhere.

            “Yes,” Sa Eno breathed. “ _Yes_ , this… _would_ be the simplest way. We must go to Derem. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.” The sudden coldness of her voice made 7721’s arms prickle, where he sat watching Green. “I suppose because… I never would have expected Lama Su to give such an important secret to outsiders. For _credits_.”

            For a moment she sat there, motionless, staring at her screen. But her eyes were not moving, and Echo suspected she was not really looking at anything at all.

            “Doctor… do you know how to stop the chips?”

            Sa Eno closed her eyes briefly, and her head swayed the tiniest bit. “No. Not yet. But I am more confident than before that a visit to my sister is the next step. I only hope she accepts my proposal.”

            “I am not aware of any network you are using to send this message,” Echo finally said. “My networking abilities must be malfunctioning again.”

            Sa Eno smiled at him slowly. “I never promised to give you access to all of Kamino. No one but a Kaminoan can access anything beyond the cloning facilities on the surface.”

            “But according to records, Derem rests on the surface and houses a small cloning facility.”

            “Yes. My sister does not live in the cloning facility on Derem.”

            Echo considered that. After a moment it seemed odd that he had ever assumed Sa Eno would give him unlimited access to Kaminoan networks. Republic, maybe, but not anything truly crucially secret. And he’d noticed small discrepancies in the official records of Kamino before.

            “If only Kaminoans can access anything beyond the cloning facilities,” he said, “how do you plan to take Green with you?”

            Sa Eno finally stood from her seat, apparently resigned to the fact that Sa Dio’s reply had not yet materialized. “That is something I will need your help to decide.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to JasJuliet for [these illustrations!](http://jasjuliet.tumblr.com/post/137990053772/have-you-ever-been-lonely-81-2030-green-from)  
>   
> 


	26. Chapter 26

            It was day eight on Saleucami. Eight days of nine battalions trying to clear a perimeter around the port city’s sensor grid. Before dawn, sweat covered Cody under his armor as he ran in the dark across hard ripples of lava that had cooled eons ago. They had made it out of the worst humidity at last and nearly to the rendezvous with the 501st last night; both battalions had decided to stop and rest their men rather than pushing the last leg. But the Separatists had ambushed the 501st in the night and the 212th rushed to help. Through night vision Cody could see the 501st converging with his own men from far left, both flowing into the broken valley as if from nearly opposite edges of a funnel.

            “Cody, this is Tucker! Sawn’s platoon is pinned down and falling fast. I need help to get to them!”

            “Copy that,” Cody said, feet pounding.

            The enemy was spread out solidly between the main contingents of GAR troops, mostly armored vehicles in the back, and spider droids swarming just a few steps after the thin first wave of B1s. They were a clattering mass of glints and shadows on their own. Night vision made them greenish and ghostly. Rockets screamed past Cody from behind as he ran firing at the nearest squad of droids and his mind and muscles sang. A wordless yell of triumph burst from him after three quick, consecutive shots from his blaster finally brought down the BX commando droid that had been charging in its eerie fluid way to meet him.

             “Ricky, come in!” Cody yelled over the comm as he fell neatly toward the right flank and let the line of Captain Brin’s company pass him by in the thinning darkness. The cries of the 501st men made the chilly pre-dawn emptiness seem like a solid thing pressing to get through Cody’s armor. But he was still sweating from running, from adrenaline

            “Ricky here, sir,” came the breathless answer.

            “Stand by.” So Ricky was still alive. “I lost contact with Gil. Gil, come in.”

            “Captain Gil is down, sir,” someone else said. “Trying to get a medic to him.”

            Cody lobbed a droid popper toward a ghostly group of commando droids and yelled, “Give me Gil’s coordinates! Brin, grenade at two o’clock!”

            His eyes were on the gaps between Brin’s men as soon as a grenade went off between them. Jin was on the scene to check the wounded a second later. Cody shot down the droid that had thrown it, but his mental map was spread out, plotting trajectories of men and missiles across the terrain. So far none of the enemy tanks had fired.

            Ducking behind a lumpy lava formation, he squinted through the smoke of the battle. It was making night vision difficult. This was the fastest way around the caldera, the outer ring of which curved to Cody’s right, far above, while most of his troops were on his left, trying to reach the 501st on the lower steps. They couldn’t bring the battle to the civilians of Saleucami who were reportedly living within the center of the caldera. But it wasn’t exactly pleasant out here and was only bound to get worse as the day broke. In addition to the rough cooled lava, the ground had been hacked apart over the ages into separate levels with sheer drops, like a massive uneven set of stairs, some more than twelve feet different in height.

            “Commander Cody, this is Commander Appo. We’re fighting our way towards you now. The first two companies and their walkers should be in sight.”

            “Copy that, Appo. I’ve got a visual. Meer, you’re under Ricky now. Stern, stay with Captain Gil until Early gets there.”

            A spider droid was pressing in fast on Brin’s men—a few of them scurried backward, firing frantically. Cody vaulted over the nearest rock, got running down the hill to gain momentum and dove, detonator in hand, aiming for the droid’s underbelly. The uneven ground clawed at his armor—a little burst from the jet pack on his back kept him sliding—he attached the charge and lurched back to his feet.

            With Brin’s men falling into formation around him, Cody turned and continued firing as the grenade exploded, but the spider droids were mainly undeterred by blaster bolts. Five hits in a row only cracked one of its eye-domes. They had a limited number of rocket launchers and that line of waiting tanks looked thick….

            Three troopers went down at his back, and another spider droid began crawling forward, metal legs chattering against the sooty ground. Cody ran and threw himself down again. He grunted when one of its feet came down on his armor, compressing it before it slid awkwardly off and he could attach another detonator. His feet and hands, knees and elbows tripped over each other to haul him out of range—he rolled onto his back and aimed as the droid tried to retreat. It took two shots to hit the receding detonator.

            “Commander, this is Lieutenant Stern.”

            The droid exploded and a couple of the men nearest it fell. “Gil will have a medic as soon as possible, Lieutenant.” Cody rushed the next group of B-1s, yelling over his own shooting as the ghostly figures of droids fell in and out of his night vision. “Stacker, Dents, check on those men caught in the blast wave.”

            A hoarse voice. “I’m fine, Commander. Just rattled.”

            A deep _boom_ fell among the thick chatter and flash of blaster fire. Cody’s head swung around and a bolt of light narrowly missed his midsection.

            Brin said, “Sir, one of the tanks just fired!”

            “I see it,” Cody panted, falling behind another lava formation to try and pick off a few B2s before zooming in. “It hit the Five-Oh-First.”

            Through Cody’s night-vision view, the ground glowed white with heat in the area the tank had just hit. As he watched, it became a live coal, crumbling. The screams took on a different tone when the ashy floor began to fall away beneath the surviving 501st troops who surrounded the blast zone. He could see them scrambling like insects running from a flood.

            “They knew this would happen,” Cody breathed as he zoomed back out and continued firing. “They’re using the terrain against us!”

            Still shooting down B-1s, Cody looked at the tanks.

            “Sir, I think Captain Gil’s dying. Should I assume command of the company?”

            “Stern, Kaze, your platoons are part of Captain Brin’s company now,” Cody decided. “Kaze, fall in when Brin reaches—”

            “INCOMING!”

            A ball of plasma flew toward them with a deafening sound as if rippling through air made liquid. It was set to fall behind them—the enemy had overshot a bit. Maybe.

            “MOVE!” Cody roared, running toward the nearest troopers and rushing them with nudges from the flat of his rifle. “Keep running! Brin, push FORWARD! Keep pushing toward the Five-Oh-First! Ghost company will bring back-up as soon as—”

            _Boom_. The ground began to fall away in a slit under Cody and he lunged to the right, tackling the nearest trooper with a little help from his jet pack before carefully landing on his feet. “As soon as we can,” Cody finished, breathless, as he helped Viper steady himself, aware of another trooper falling, screaming, getting pulled under as if the ground had turned to liquid. A ping of light made Viper’s grip tighten suddenly on Cody’s hand, and then he fell limp. Cody’s jaw and stomach clenched hard as he let go and turned in a crouch to fire back into the darkness and look at the damage.

           The ground had fallen away in more or less of a line, a crooked line a few meters thick, thicker in some places, arcing and splitting. The ground had been hollow. Viper didn’t move beside Cody—no pulse or breathing when he felt for it. The droids nearby _happened_ to be positioned just so that most of them remained on solid ground.

            “Cody, this is Ricky. My company’s ready to return fire at the tanks. Just give the word.”

            “Hang on,” Cody said, a thrill rushing through him despite the dead and the screaming all around. “We’re going to adjust our aim.”

            “Sir.”

            More explosions to the left. Cody saw what was happening even before Ricky called in again.

            “Commander, I think—”

            “They’re herding Appo’s men into that crevice. Commander Appo, fall back the way you came! They’re trying to drive you—”

            “There’s nowhere else for my men to _go!_ ” Appo’s yell crackled through the comm.

            “Keep to the high ground as much as you can!” Cody yelled back, just as he saw two of Appo’s soldiers fall down the sheer split-level of rock the droids were driving them toward. The 501st had been trying to use the irregular levels as cover but it was being turned against them now.

            “Alright,” Cody growled, crawling up over an unusually large, jagged formation to get a better view of one last piece of the puzzle. The ground was sharp here even through his gloves. “Ricky, send a few rockets to clear the way for the Five Oh First! Wooley, lead the rest of the company toward Brin.” He stared at the tank line, trying to focus over the sounds of battle and keep an eye on the approaching second wave of spider droids.

            “But sir, we have a limited—”

            “It’s alright, Captain. Trust me.”

             “Yes, sir.”

            “Shiver, Trem, Vee. Aim your rockets for the coordinates I’m sending you. Wait my mark.”

            Cody laid heavy fire, rifle vibrating in his arms. The spider droid managed one shot toward his hiding place and he flinched as it impacted, but the falling rocks rolled off him and he pulled himself out to finish it off.

            “Sir, coordinates received. Aimed and ready…. You must have a plan.”

            “Of course I do.” Cody felt himself grinning and was a little surprised. “Ro, Zenk, aim rockets for—”

            Another flash of light. The ground shook through his boots and he grunted as one more bit of rock glanced off his helmet, a spark of pain zinging through his clenched teeth.

            “Sir, this is Tucker! Sawn’s platoon is still out of reach. Not sure how many of them are even left after that blast.”

            “On my way, Tucker! Gata, your squads are with me! Up the hill!”

            “Yes, sir!”

            Cody motioned for them as he clawed his way back around the crumbled rock and ran toward the edge of the fissure. He’d had long enough at the vantage point to map the coordinates, and his fingers sent them to each soldier through the keys on his wrist. Now all he needed was a little luck.

            He looked back downhill toward where the rescue of the 501st was still underway. “Meer, hard left, you’ll have to go down the walls! Have the men clear the way with grenades.”

            “Yes, sir!”

            Cody engaged his jet pack for a few seconds; his feet left the ground. He passed through the heat wave emanating from the cracks the tank had opened up and was grateful his armor was at least a little resistant.

            “Shiver, Trem, Vee.  On my mark.” He came down and started running, could see Gata’s men rushing to follow.

            “Ready.”

            “FIRE!”

            Rockets screamed behind Cody as he ran up the hill, perpendicular to the main battle. He had ordered Sawn’s platoon this way to try and prevent the enemy from being driven into the caldera, but now they were pinned down by a line of spider droids and a thick band of B-1s.

            “Gata, get two rockets ready. Tucker, your position!”

            “I see you, Commander.”

            “We’re going to break open the line and get Sawn’s company _out_! Gata, Ghost’s squad is recovery, yours is cover fire. Let’s get these boys out of there.”

            “Yes sir!”

            “I want all troops to fall back west of the tanks. Appo, are any of your men left on the east side?”

            Silence for a moment. Cody took advantage of it to shoot the legs out from under two B2s and skid to a crouch behind their bulk. He lobbed a grenade ahead and vaulted over his barrier as soon as he heard it explode. The droids were falling fast.

            “Get in there! Go, go, go!” Cody urged his men. “Tucker, get behind me!”

            The medic appeared from a crevice in the side of the hill, and began running behind Cody just as Gata’s squad set the nearest spiders smoldering and spread out close to the wreck to draw the enemy’s fire. Cody grabbed a grenade off Aurek’s belt and jetted over the battlefield. Only one of the B-1s on the nearest tank saw him coming, and he shot it just as it began to speak. Cody landed, grabbed its body to throw at the two others who turned their guns on him, and wrenched the tank’s hatch open just as they fell. In went the grenade, down went the hatch, and Cody burst away into the air only a meter ahead of the tank’s explosion.

            He could see Tucker and Ghost’s squad picking up the wounded. Gata’s men had started to fall—one, then another. Cody landed on a higher ledge and aimed carefully on his stomach. His finger squeezed the trigger in a steady rhythm—the nearest spider down, three B-1s with it.

            “UP HERE, CLANKERS!” he yelled, waving his arms before slipping back behind cover. “Gata, get out of there!”

            “Copy that, Commander!”

            “Appo, come in! Are any of your men left on the east side?”

            “At least one full platoon.”

            “Tell them to head further east and away from the hillside.” He peeked out and fired again.

            Another clanker down. Another. The blaster bolts were coming heavier now.

            “Commander, we can’t leave the caldera exposed!” Appo’s voice was strained and loud over the comm. Maybe angry. “We have our orders!”

            “Leave that to me,” Cody said calmly, taking a moment to breathe and reassess his targets. He moved to the other side of the rock. “This approach isn’t working; we have to stop them all at once. I’m ordering an airstrike. Clear the zone.”

            “We were advised _not_ to airstrike this zone! You saw what happened when the tanks fired. We’re lucky our use of rockets hasn’t—”

            “Exactly, Commander.” Cody gritted his teeth and aimed—three out of four of his shots hit the tactical droid atop the multi-troop transport maneuvering closer to Gata.  It slumped; the transport ran into a dead spider droid and stopped. “Clear the zone! We can go the long way round if we have to, but not if we’re all _dead_.” Cody switched frequencies. “Odd Ball, come in. I’m ordering an airstrike. Sending coordinates now. Give us about fifteen minutes.”

            “Copy that, Commander. Thought you’d never ask!”

            Cody jetted over and hit the ground next to the last of Gata’s men, who was struggling with a wounded leg and a badly wounded trooper on his back. “I got him, I got him!” Cody grabbed the trooper and pulled him over his shoulder. “GO!”

            “Yes sir!” Sharp saluted and ran, hobbling.

            “Alright back there, Lan?” Cody ran as fast as he dared.

            A heaving breath from near his waist.

            “Oh, a direct answer for once,” Cody joked. “ALL UNITS, FALL BACK! RICKY, I’m counting on you to get the Five Oh First to a safe distance! The airstrike will hit the following coordinates; anything directly downhill _must_ be clear!”

            Minutes later, voice hoarse from repeating orders and checking in with officers on the run, Cody joined Tucker in the indentation where he was collecting the wounded and put Lan down with the others. The rumbling shriek of Odd Ball’s bomber split the sky—Cody switched off night vision and saw the grey-blue dawn starting to creep across the sky. The ground lit up with flashes of light, and under the rapidly falling shells, rock and debris sprayed the sky.

            “Come on,” Cody whispered. He had mapped the sunken areas well enough, he thought. “Come on….”

            As the smoke cleared, the noise of the battlefield dimmed. He could hear the chattering of droids distantly, perhaps even a tinny cheer as they thought the bomber had missed. But then there was a resounding _crack_ , and long strips of the ground imploded and sank deep into the hollows in the mountain. The shock of the destruction triggered a widespread landslide toward the mass of CIS troops. The remaining tanks didn’t even start to move until the slow-motion avalanche had almost reached them.

            “ _Yes!_ ”

            Cody jetted up to see if there were any stragglers he could lift out. As he maneuvered over the other troops, he heard some of them cheering as they realized what was happening. This battle was nearly over, almost too easy, too soon.

            Another sound, a screech like metal, and Cody looked up while engaging night vision, expecting to see a large boulder perhaps had broken away from the caldera’s rim. But up on the edge, Odd Ball’s fighter was grinding, sliding down, smoking—wedged, a moment later, between two boulders.

            “What?” Cody breathed. He hadn’t seen anything among the enemy armed with anti-aircraft missiles. “Odd Ball, come in! Odd Ball! Dare, come _in!_ ”

…

            By the time the 212th had regrouped, the sun was rising and the ground had steadied. Cody stood near the mass of wounded, helmet off, water in hand as Tucker and West argued. The sick smell of blood reached inside his nose and made him shudder, but it was better than it had been in the jungle terrain. Cody could actually breathe without feeling like he was swallowing his brothers’ guts.

            “Sir, the larties can approach from the south if they need to,” Tucker was saying. “It’s too flat for them to hide any turrets over there. We don’t even know if Odd Ball and Dare were hit by missiles, since neither of them can tell us now.”

            “So they just crashed for no reason?” West muttered skeptically, arms folded.

            Tucker made an exasperated gesture. “I’m sure there’s a _reason_ , but the point is, we have to get most of these men off the planet’s surface if they’re going to live. Cody, Kix told me that between the droids and the scavengers, the Five Hundred First lost almost seventy percent of their remaining wounded in last night’s attack: even some of the less serious ones too who _could_ have been battle ready in a day or so if they just had _time!_ The animals are getting more aggressive, too… Chanks got attacked and he wasn’t even injured, just straggling. If we don’t want to let everyone with so much as a sprained ankle die down here, we have to move them _somewhere_ they can recover. It… it’s only getting worse the closer we get to the port.” Tucker gave a tight sigh, rubbing at his head with one hand. “If we hit the edge of the sensor grid before the Generals can knock it out, the enemy will know our every movement. As it is, they’re dropping new temporary sensors to expand the grid. Appo’s men found a few last night, before they were attacked.”

            West sighed too. “The Generals better knock out that grid soon or none of us will be surviving, sprained ankles or not.”

            “You’re right.” Cody nodded. “Moving the wounded out is a risk we’ll have to take, whether the enemy has anti-aircraft missiles on the other side of that ridge or not. I’ll contact the fleet.”

            He had just pressed his comm when a voice came from behind him. “Commander Cody. Excuse me. I need to speak with you.”

            Cody turned to see Commander Appo standing rigidly. Appo’s hand jerked, clenched; he hesitated before finally saluting, his brow furrowed.

            “What is it, Commander?” Cody asked, keeping his voice mild and expectant.

            Appo glanced at the medics, and Cody considered moving away from them, but Appo spoke before he could suggest it.

            “The Generals are out of contact, sir. I’ve been trying to contact them since we were ambushed, but… not a single answer. I was hoping you might try. Your comm has a wider range.”

            Cody hadn’t tried to contact General Kenobi—his report wasn’t ready yet. He tapped his comm. “General Kenobi, this is Commander Cody. Please respond.”

            The medics didn’t continue their conversation, intent on Cody’s silent comm, but moved back to their duties when nothing happened. He tried again, and again, then General Skywalker’s frequency. Still nothing. Skywalker might have reasons not to answer him, but Kenobi would have replied.

            “ _Tenacity_ , come in,” Cody tried. “This is Commander Cody.”

            After a moment: “This is bridge officer Taller. What can I do for you, Commander?”

            “Has there been any contact from any of the Jedi on the planet’s surface in the last three hours?”

            “Checking the logs.” A pause. “Negative, sir. Would you like me to try sending them a message?”

            “Yes. Tell them we’ve lost contact with Generals Kenobi and Skywalker.”

            “Anything else?”

            “We’ll need a medical pick up at these coordinates, over fifty Immediates and three times that of Delayeds we should get out before the fighting starts again. Try to send the ships in from the south. The enemy might have anti-aircraft missiles.”

            “Sir. Right away, sir.”

            “Cody out.”

            He dropped his arm and gave a small grimace. “Well. Now we wait. But you know what this means.”

            “Sir?” Tucker asked, looking up from applying a pressure wrap.

            “There’s a chance we’re being jammed from certain frequencies of local transmission,” Cody said. No sense indulging in his fears of the worst happening to Kenobi and Skywalker. “Which means…Oddball and Dare might still be alive. In any case, investigating the damage to the hull could tell us why they crashed. Maybe a peek over the ridge could too.”

            “I’ll go, sir.” West pulled his medpack back on and stood. “Tucker, I gave Gil another dose of painkillers. He’s tough enough… I expect he’ll pull through.”

            “We’ll take some walkers part way,” Cody suggested. “Save some time.” He took a moment to inform the captains where he was going over comm.

            As he and West moved away from the wounded, Appo followed, quietly speaking into his comm too.

            “Bow, take temporary command. I’m going up the hillside with Commander Cody to investigate the crashed bomber. My communicator should remain open if you have any questions. Inform the other officers.”

            An even quieter “Yes, sir.”

            Cody looked around at the masses of troops trying to reorganize. He caught a few of them sleeping, propped up against rocks and helmeted to try and hide their closed eyes. Well, after fighting hard for days and only a few hours rest last night….

            “I doubt they’re alive,” West muttered. “But Odd Ball _has_ gotten lucky before.”

            “If there’s a chance they’re still up there and need help, I want them out before the medical transport gets here,” Cody said as they came up to a few AT-RTs. A trooper was bent over one of the feet, examining the joint. “Boil. I need to borrow this.”

            Boil jumped and hurried to his feet, his eyes wide but the rest of his expression neutral. “Sir,” he said abruptly. “Go ahead. I was just checking to make sure.”

            “Something wrong with it?”

            “One of the other walkers’ feet got twisted out of alignment in the jagged terrain. Thought I might have done the same trying to retreat. Thought I'd check. Joint just needed an adjustment.”

            “So it was a close call?” Cody observed. “Hmm. Maybe I should have given the men more time to fall back.” He glanced at Appo, but Appo had his helmet on and it was impossible to see what he thought.

            Boil shrugged, eyes averted. “Most everyone made it out who wasn’t already gone. We did what we had to, sir. Anyway….” He placed a hand on the walker’s leg. “It’s all yours. Scouting ahead?”

            Cody pointed up toward the crashed bomber. “I need to know if Oddball and Dare are still alive and why they crashed.”

            Boil looked surprised by that for half a second. Then shrugged again, as if unconscious of the motion, and glanced behind Cody at Appo, expression changing again into something Cody couldn’t interpret. Apprehension? Recognition? “Good luck, sir. I’ll inform Bastion and Aider that their walkers are being used for retrieval.”

            “Good man. Get some rest if you can.”

            “Sir.” It came out like a grunt; Boil came to attention and walked away.

            Without speaking, the three of them climbed up onto the walkers and turned them up toward the ridge.

            “Ever drive one of these things before, Commander?” Cody yelled to Appo when they were going at a brisk, jarring pace.

            It took a moment for Appo to reply, bouncing a bit against the walker’s gait. “Yes! A few years ago.”

            Probably in the brief vehicular section of basic training, then. Cody laughed under his breath and felt a sudden stab of pain in his stomach. It was just his body wanting food, he told himself. Reacting to a lack of sleep and the AT-RT’s gait. Coming down off the adrenaline high. That was all.

             It passed. “This’ll be quite the jump.” He stared ahead at a rock face that was a meter and a half high.

            “Follow my lead,” West volunteered, and surged ahead with surprising skill to a fallen cluster of rocks. The walker hopped onto the pile and sprang the rest of the way up the rock face, landing on an uneven lip that bore its weight without even a sprinkling of ash breaking away. West had been looking ahead for the sturdiest ground. Cody smiled under his helmet.

            “After you, Commander,” he said to Appo, who nodded and moved his walker to near exactly where West had started, mimicked his movements closely, and landed safely, though with one foot half off the edge. It was an easy recovery. Cody followed, enjoying the few seconds the walker was off the ground.

            “Commander Cody,” Cody’s comm said. He moved his walker a pace away from the edge to answer, patching Appo and West in. “The four Jedi who went to disable the port’s sensor grid have fallen out of communication with all Republic forces. Last recorded contact was nine hours, seven minutes ago.” 

            “But the other Jedi on the surface are still responding? The other commanders?”

            “Exactly, sir.”

            “Which means… the Jedi could have failed,” Cody said quietly. Not died. Perhaps been captured. It didn’t need to mean the worst. He took a slow, silent breath and his mind settled. Appo and West were watching him.

            “I’ll continue to attempt contact, sir,” Taller said. His tone turned grave even over the comm.

            “Appreciated. Keep me informed of any other changes.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Well, Commander,” Cody said wryly, glancing at Appo and glad of his helmet’s extra shade. Sunrise was breaking on them from the left, catching their armor and the mist rising from inside the caldera, turning both a blinding gold-white despite a week’s grime of battle on all of them. “Looks like _we_ might need a backup plan.”

            West called back from his position ahead, “ _We’ll have to drop the walkers off here. It’s too steep!_ ” He hauled himself up off the top of his walker and began to climb.

            At the cliff side, Cody stretched his walker to its full height before he shut it off and stood to haul himself onto the higher ledge. The rest of the way looked climbable enough. They were nearly level with where the surface had broken apart under the airstrike, and he could see now that the bomber was flipped over, one of its wings clearly damaged.

            He turned to help Appo up and they hurried after West, who was scrambling over the rocks at a relentless pace.

            For the next twenty minutes, Cody focused purely on climbing, and tried to come up with a plan for if the Generals still hadn't made contact by the time they returned to the troops. The repetitive reaching and pulling loosened the knot in his shoulders. A breeze picked up that did nothing to cool the sweat inside his under suit; it smelled of blood and battle even through his helmet.

            “Cody!” West finally yelled from ahead. “It _was_ a missile!”

            Cody looked up. He was hunched forward, scrambling level with Appo, and the ship was close enough that he could see what West meant. The shape of the scorched hole in the wing was too regular to have come from anything but a laser. Somehow, the wing had stayed attached despite half of it being punched through.

            “Are they alive?” he called back, breaking into an awkward run, using his hands every third or fourth step.

            West was trying to open the hatch with little success. “Oh come _on!_ ” he growled, and gave up on pulling at it, got out his rifle and aimed carefully.

            Cody didn’t try to stop him. West knew what he was doing, and a few well-placed bolts later a large section of the dome came loose and shattered, its fragments sliding down the rock face with an almost musical noise. The shards that made it out from under the shadow of the bomber glinted in the light.

            Cody closed the last stretch of ground between himself and West, aware of Appo right beside him. West was already shaking his head sadly at Dare, strapped in and hanging upside-down, motionless. Cody pulled Odd Ball’s helmet off.

            The pilot groaned, his eyelids quivered as if he was trying to open them and failing. One hand hung above his head, the other clenched tight around the controls. He flexed his fingers and patted at Cody weakly, as if trying to find something to hold onto.

            “It’s Cody,” Cody said, taking the pilot’s hand briefly. “It’s okay, Odd Ball, we’re going to get you out.”

            At last, Odd Ball managed to open his eyes a slit, and immediately closed them again with a pained noise, face screwed up. “M… head,” he creaked

            Cody checked it for any damage, but he couldn’t feel any bumps or see any bleeding.

            “Probably just from hanging upside-down for so long,” Cody joked, reaching for the strap release.

            West shoved him aside and felt Odd Ball’s neck, frowning hard. “You’ve injured your upper spine. Can you feel the rest of your body?”

            Odd Ball gave a convulsive laugh and flinched.

            “Don’t _laugh_ ,” West growled, removing Odd Ball’s armor so he could feel more accurately. “That doesn’t tell me anything except that you have a terrible sense of humor! Use words.”

            “Yeah. I can feel it,” Odd Ball hissed weakly. “One… one of my legs is half asleep but….”

            “Perfect,” West said, and jerked his head at Cody. Cody shifted over beneath the cockpit to slide an arm between the pilot’s back and the seat he was pressed against, ready to ease him down when the straps released him. A moment later, Cody and West carefully set Odd Ball on his side, and West studied him more closely.

            “One broken rib, severe pelvic bruising but no internal bleeding that I can tell… collarbone’s fractured, neck injured by severe whiplash. You got lucky.”

            “Dare?” Odd Ball jerked and called out suddenly, eyes wide open.

            “He’s dead,” West said simply.

            Odd Ball’s face went slack, his breathing eased. “Was probably quick then.”

            “Commander Cody,” said a voice over the comm. “You might want to see this.”

            It took Cody a moment to realize it was Appo, and that the other commander was no longer by them but had climbed to the rim of the caldera, several meters up.

            “I’ll be right back,” he said to West.

            “Mm.” West was intent on treating Odd Ball for shock.

            Cody hurried up the last treacherous stretch of loose gravel. Appo was at the top, on his stomach, peering down the other side through his binoculars. He shifted aside and held them in place for Cody to take.

            It took Cody only a second to settle on what Appo meant for him to see. Through the lenses there was lush tall grass and leafy bushes surrounding a huge anti-aircraft turret. There was another nearby, set right among the houses of the town, civilians milling around it and giving it a wide berth. Droids were stationed there as well.

            “Well, that narrows our options a bit,” Cody admitted.

            “What options? You were thinking of going down there for some reason?” Appo asked.

            “I've been thinking of what to do in the event Generals Kenobi and Skywalker failed their mission.”

            Appo sat still a moment before he responded in a brisk tone. “The choice is simple, sir. We either press forward without the Generals, or wait until they make contact again.”

            Cody sighed. “We could do that, but I have another idea.”

            “What other idea?” Appo asked skeptically. “Our orders were plain.”

            “We'll talk when we get back to camp, Commander.”

            After a few moments, Appo silently picked himself up and returned to West.

            Cody took his own helmet off for a moment to let the wind cool his sweaty head, and suddenly felt tired. It was going to be a long hike back down to the camp with Odd Ball in tow. He stared down at the rocks under his arms and fought the urge to lay his head down and simply look at them a while with the wind on his hair. There was a white one with a band of black around it that held his attention for a good minute while he breathed deeply. The dirt smelled normal up here, and the wind from the other side still smelled of the crash.

…

            Cody was right. Getting Odd Ball down to the rest of the troops was painstakingly slow, and a ride on an AT-RT was too jarring for the wounded trooper to take. They carried him down by foot. It didn't take long after that, at least, to get him with the other Immediates, send Boil and the others to retrieve their walkers, and sit in some measure of calm amongst the other resting soldiers. Cody could hardly remember the last time he had slept for more than an hour.

            “Commander,” a 501st trooper said, walking up to him. He took off his helmet.

            “Commander Appo,” Cody said. “You should get some rest.”

            Appo looked doubtful. “I'm fine. We have to decide on our next movement.”

            Cody sighed. Appo wasn't exactly a shiny, but Cody knew that he wasn't going to like the plan that he'd been mulling over since he had learned the Generals' mission could be compromised. “What's your suggestion?”

            “I say we stay put until we hear from General Skywalker or General Kenobi, or else receive a command from the fleet or another Jedi.”

            “Have you tried contacting the fleet for direction?”

            Appo hesitated. “Yes... sir... but they have their hands full up there. They recommended we remain in position until further orders.”

            Of course that's what they said. They were caught up in their own battles. The last thing they needed to worry about was directing a battalion on the ground when they, much like the troops themselves, had no word of what was happening with the sensor grid or at the port.

            “So that's your plan, is it?” Cody said.

            “Well... yes,” Appo stated as if it were obvious.

            “Well you're right about one thing. Our troops do need rest. But I don't plan to wait around here longer than that.”

            “We can't move forward without knowing the state of the grid,” Appo said tightly, almost daring him to disagree. “We don't have any other choice but to wait.”

            “And let the Seppies pick us off while we’re sitting in one place, making it easy for them?” Cody huffed an empty laugh and folded his arms. “You know, they could bomb us if the fleet fails to keep them back. And the longer we’re down here, the more likely we are to lose ships up there. Waiting more than a day just isn’t an option.”

            “What do you suggest, moving forward? That's crazy. We either wait until further orders, or let this world fall to the Separatists, and we’ve lost too many men to let it all be for nothing!”

            Cody shook his head. “There’s another way.”

            “Sir?” Appo asked.

            “We finish what the Generals started.”

            Appo’s head jerked and his eyes widened. “Commander Cody, we… you can’t be serious. We’re not Jedi!”

            “No,” Cody said tiredly, though Appo’s response bothered him. “But we _are_ soldiers of the Republic. The Jedi have unexpectedly been out of contact for ten hours now, so we have to assume that they failed their mission. General Kenobi and Skywalker are counting on us. The entire victory on this planet was contingent on their success. You don't want this to all be for nothing? Then we have to take down that grid… with or without them.”

            Appo’s voice was an urgent near-whisper. “Sir, if _Jedi_ couldn’t get inside the port to disable—”

            “We don't know why they failed,” Cody said. “We could have just as good of a chance.”

            “Who would you send?”

            “I wouldn't send anyone,” Cody said. “I’d go myself. You could come or send one of your best men. I think two, or three of us at most will be ideal for slipping behind enemy lines.”

            “And leave our men to fight _alone?_ ” The respectful restraint in Appo’s voice was fading fast.

            “As long as the officers are correctly distributed and given clear orders, they should be able to carry on just fine without us for the short time I intend this mission to be. As you say, all they will be doing is resting.” Cody raised an eyebrow

            Appo made a noise; he’d just swallowed whatever he was going to say.

            “You don’t think your men can handle it?” Cody asked.

            “O-of course they can.” Appo stared straight ahead, upright and stiff. “The Five Hundred First is full of the finest soldiers in the army.”

            “Maybe you don’t want to step too far out of line as a new Commander,” Cody said. “But you know we can’t just march into those sensors. You already lost too many men in last night’s attack, and we’re still on the fringe.”

            Appo was silent at that. Cody wondered if it was grief or embarrassment or just taking time to think it over.

            “The point is,” he pressed on, “there’s no possible way to take this planet back without disabling that grid. We underestimated how many droids they had on the surface in the first place. Enemy forces could be even thicker the closer we get to the city.”

            “If our Generals are gone,” Appo said at last, “we should consider what they _would_ order of us, not come up with some reckless plan on our own. There’s no possible way they would approve of two clone commanders leaving their battalion on a mission that’s sure to fail. Besides, with the predators, we need safety in num—”

            “I have considered it. You don't seem to know your own General. If any Jedi would approve of this supposedly 'reckless' plan, it's General Skywalker. And as for General Kenobi, he might seem like the cautious type, but his actions show he's just as courageous as any. If you’re not confident in your ability to fight alongside a Jedi, to cover for a Jedi, send someone who is,” Cody said, a little more aggressively than he’d meant to. “General Kenobi depends on me to take charge of any situation when it falls out of his hands. I’ve pulled him out of worse scrapes than this. And Captain Rex did the same for General Skywalker, so it’s your duty to step up to the task.”

            When Appo spoke again, it was slow and overly clear. “I don’t need,” he said, “to be lectured on my duties. I know well that my first duty, beyond my duty to Skywalker _or_ my own men, is to the Republic’s success in this war. Sometimes… my duty is to defer to the next available Jedi.”

            “The next available Jedi are on the other side of our target, and they’ve got problems of their own to deal with.”

            Appo sighed abruptly. “Respectfully, sir, we should at least send them a message and ask whether your plan makes any sense! I assume you _have_ a plan?”

            “If you’d like to hear it.”

            Appo said nothing, and Cody covered his sigh under shifting his weight.

            “Look, I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m just trying to help. I have the authority to make decisions for my battalion in Kenobi’s absence, and the same goes for you and General Skywalker. That’s what it means to _be_ a commander.” Cody tried to keep his tone patient, although Appo’s attitude was threading a tension through his shoulders he’d thought he’d left behind days ago. “The only way our absence is relevant to the other Jedi is if it keeps our battalions from being in position when the grid goes down. You know that when it comes to the hierarchy of command, everyone is replaceable. We have good captains who know how to lead these armies.”

            “Maybe they already sent someone to find out what happened to our Generals,” Appo said, “and we’d be wasting our time. Maybe the Generals are just temporarily out of contact.”

            Cody couldn’t help another small huff of exasperation. “Check on that before we leave, then.”

            “It’s your plan,” Appo said in a light tone. “Maybe you should check in yourself.”

            “Fine.” Cody felt a brief, useless sense of warning, but he couldn’t stop now. Appo was new, probably needed this advice. “I just hope you’re not worried about this because of a lack of confidence. Skywalker will be depending on you to do what Rex would do, and Rex would proceed with the—”

            “You don’t know anything about what General Skywalker expects,” Appo said, his tone turning harsh all at once, before he recovered slightly. “Sir. And I’m not Rex, which, like it or not, is part of why I was _given_ this command.”

            Skywalker’s angry words began rattling in his mind and Cody was startled at the shudder that went through him. It was a moment before he gathered himself. “If you never take risks, you’ll never get anywhere in this war. You can’t….” He hated himself for saying this. “You can’t be so afraid of repeating whatever mistake he might have made. There’s a difference… between doing what’s necessary to complete the mission and—”

            “I know the difference between disloyalty and bravery,” Appo said steadily. “I also know that what my battalion needs right now is a commander who won’t go off on his own and get himself killed again.”

            “The risk of death isn’t much different… whether we stay or we go, with the current situation,” was all Cody could manage to say evenly.

            “You’re free to leave your battalion if you want, Commander.” Appo said. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea. Better to send a scout, or someone who everyone won’t be looking to for help in the heat of battle.”

            “Your concerns are noted, _General_ ,” Cody said dully, angry that Rex wasn’t here to take mock offense at the joke, with that raised eyebrow he could recognize even through a helmet, to listen and plan with him, to make his ideas better than at first. Angry at himself for letting it become personal, for expecting that it would be easy to fall into some kind of familiar pattern with Appo—feeling pleased in some small way that it wasn’t easy at all. Rex couldn’t be replaced… barely in position, and certainly not in personality. But now there was nothing adequate to fill that absence.

            “I don’t pretend to any position higher than my own.” Appo’s voice was soft, but his hands were in fists.

            “No,” Cody said. _You don’t even want to live up to the one you have._


	27. Chapter 27

            Appo broke into a jog when he saw Singer. It was getting dark, but the camp was organized and settled in, and the careful angles of the lieutenant’s body language made even his silhouette recognizable to Appo as long as it was in motion. He was standing and talking—too quietly for Appo to hear at first—in the midst of so many brothers lying and sitting down to sleep, propped on rocks or with heads resting on one another’s stomachs and laps and shoulders. The voices around them were bright, weary but steady. No anger or shaking whispers, even though the remaining wounded were laid out in rows nearby.

            “Singer!” Appo called.

            “Sir!” Singer straightened and turned away from the trooper he was talking to.

            “Still no sign of Jesse?”

            “No, sir,” Singer sighed. “And Rabbit is also out of contact.”

            “Jesse won’t answer me either,” said the other trooper. “I’ve tried eight times in the last five minutes.”

            Appo turned as he came to a halt and realized who the other trooper was. In the twilight, Kix’s eyes looked a little unfocused; probably exhausted, as they all were.

            “It isn’t like him to turn off his comm,” Kix said under his breath and rubbed his neck with the hand that wasn’t holding his helmet. “Especially on duty….”

            Singer shook his head. “Not even Rabbit does that, normally.”

            “What about Avenger?” Appo asked Kix. Nothing but bad news, he was sure, but best to get it over with. “Did you find him?”

            “Dead asleep by Levi.” Kix blew a short breath. “Although, he nearly punched me when I checked his vitals. So I guess _he’s_ just fine.”

            “So he has an excuse for not responding,” Appo muttered nervously. “But we have at least two missing men. You’re sure they checked in about two, three hours ago?”

            “Absolutely,” said Singer, his voice getting softer with worry. “Rabbit checked in with both me _and_ Lieutenant Fits.” Singer’s hand paused mid-gesture and he looked up into space. “Hmm. Now that I think of it… _that’s_ a little unusual.”

            “He was helping me with the wounded until I… snapped at him and he left.” Kix crossed his arms tightly. “Jesse, I mean.”

            Appo looked at Kix and wondered how many smudges of other clones’ blood was mixed in with the armor’s camo paint. “Didn’t say where he was going?” He’d already asked—it was a pointless question.

            “No, sir.” Kix shook his head at the ground, fingers tapping faintly on his upper arm plate. “I told him to go get some rest. I thought that was where he went.”

            Appo stood evenly on both feet for a moment, the warm night vibrating slightly around him and under his boots as the indistinct murmurs of relieved and exhausted brothers drifted back and forth. Another decision. More numbers to add to the casualty list. More fear and uncertainty in every surviving trooper—for good reason.

            “We can’t send anyone after them.” Appo made his voice sound confident, made himself look them in the eyes. He couldn’t slip now. “We don’t even know which way they went.”

            “He didn’t leave any sort of message,” Kix said, a tired murmur. The medic shifted and rubbed at his eyes and forehead with one hand.

            Appo noticed Singer looking at him, then at Kix, then back again. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Singer was a naturally receptive clone. But maybe he was considering whose priorities to side with.

            “We’ll search the camp again. It could be nothing,” Appo thought aloud. “Just a fluke malfunction in the comms. Or they could be asleep somewhere like Avenger. In the worst case… it could also be a sign that something is going on here.” _Think_ , Appo commanded himself—distracted by trying to read Kix and Singer’s body language.

            Commander Cody’s idea about signal jamming came back to mind, but the fleet was still in contact as were some of the other commanders, klicks and klicks away… farther from them than the Jedi should have been. Certainly farther than Jesse or Rabbit should be.

          The lieutenant shifted to put a hand on Kix’s shoulder. “I’ll get everyone in the platoon to search if they can.”

            Kix jerked a little on contact. “I’ve got to get back to the wounded….”

            A light flashed on Appo’s comm and he steeled himself for another crisis, another question about who was going to lead whom now that so many of their officers were wounded or dead. It had been almost fifteen minutes since the last comm signal, a new record of silence from the troops.

            “Appo here.”

            “It’s Wit, Commander, We’ve spotted two troopers headed toward the camp. They aren’t scouts. I’m at my post by walker four.”

            “On my way,” said Appo, relieved it was something he had no doubt how to answer. “Don’t act as if their approach is anything out of the ordinary, unless they’re wounded or turn out to be hostiles. _I’ll_ speak with them.”

            “Yes, sir. I’ll uh, inform the others.”

            “I’ll come too, sir,” said Kix.

           “No.” Be firm, he told himself. “Pass your duties on to the next rested medic and sleep for at least four hours. The reports can wait.”

            “Sir,” Kix said in that faint laugh that meant he was about to insist he was fine. “I can check on a couple of men without—”

            “It’s not up for discussion; I’ll inform you if they need medical attention.” Appo said, and turned away immediately so he wouldn’t have to argue. He didn’t want Kix or Singer following him—the medic was too much of an influence on everyone, and as helpful as Singer always was, Appo couldn’t rely on that.

            He couldn’t delegate everything. He couldn’t pass on the responsibility for this failure to anyone else. He might have lost two more men for no good reason, and that list was getting longer every day.

            When Appo broke through the deep darkness between walkers four and five at the outer edge of the ring of walkers encircling the camp, Jesse and Rabbit were just being helped up over the edge of the mesa by a small group of troopers standing guard. As soon as Appo stopped to stand squarely a few meters ahead of them, Rabbit thumped Jesse on the arm and Jesse’s head snapped up. Both troopers stopped immediately to face him.

            “I’ve got this station covered,” Appo announced to the men on watch. “Spread out. Jesse. Rabbit. We need to talk.”

            “Yes, sir!”

            He saw Jesse and Rabbit stiffen further, but he waited until the other men were far enough away before he took some heavy steps forward.

            “Hold out your right arms.”

            Jesse and Rabbit looked at each other, unreadable in their helmets, and held out their right arms. Appo pressed the power switch on their wrist comms, and lifted his own up to his mouth.

            “Are you hearing me _now?_ ” he growled, and his voice came back at him from the two comms.

            “Yes, sir,” said Rabbit. Jesse let his arm drop with a defeated sigh.

            Appo took off his helmet, trying to focus on Rabbit, the younger of the two. Trying not think about how Jesse had been in the 501st since its inception. How could a senior member of the battalion be so irresponsible?

             “Look at me. Helmets off.”

            Jesse and Rabbit obeyed, both of them with sheepish grins that were almost grimaces.

            “Explain yourselves!” he barked, his tension building at the sight of their faces. How dare they try to laugh this off when their brothers were worried about them? When so many others were dying or dead?

            “We went to hunt for dropped sensors,” said Jesse.

            “We were thinkin’ another sneak attack might happen if we didn’t, sir,” said Rabbit. “I don’t know that our battalion would survive that.”

            “And it was necessary to turn off your comms for this? Let us all think you were dead? Did you really think we wouldn’t notice you were gone? And don’t insult me by trying to tell me it was an accident. There’s nothing wrong with your communicators.”

            “We did shut them off deliberately, sir,” Jesse said quietly, shoulders hunched a bit. “We….” He glanced at Rabbit, who grimaced and shook his head.

            “You _what?_ ”

            “We… well, sir,” Jesse said uncomfortably, not looking at him. “We thought, in the interests of stealth—”

            “Why didn’t you run this plan by me first? Jesse, this is the second time you’ve deliberately gone against orders! You might have consulted me!”

            Jesse’s shoulders hunched even more—but he looked more nervous than angry.

            “I have given both of you, _all_ of you the freedom to make suggestions during battle!” Appo looked between them, hating to think what they saw when they looked at him. “I recognized that your plan worked, even though I didn’t approve of it!”

           “Yes sir. And I appreciate that,” Jesse said earnestly, with an edge of nervous laughter. “Really, I do. But we, we knew you were busy and—”

            “This isn’t about me being busy!” Appo shifted his helmet under one arm, clenching his fists. He always, always answered his comm. It was a struggle; he was exhausted to the point of dizziness, but he wasn’t going to let the men down on account of that. What kind of commander would he be? “It’s not even about asking permission—it’s about keeping me informed and following orders! Keeping each other SAFE!”

            Rabbit opened his mouth, but Appo hurried to cut him off.

            “Even Singer didn’t know where you were!” he dropped his voice to a tight whisper as he heard footsteps nearby, realizing he was starting to yell. “I expected better of both of you, even after what happened with Avenger, but especially you, Jesse. Your battalion needs you to stay alive.” He stepped toward Jesse, wanting to shake him. “I need you to stop hiding things from me.”

            “Sir.” Jesse wilted and raised his hands. “None of us are intentionally—”

            The footsteps again. Appo turned and saw another trooper, out of armor, standing just on the edge of the darkness beneath the walkers and smiling. He didn’t dare to hope that smile meant good news.

            “Sorry to interrupt. I can come back later.”

            “No,” Appo said as he faced him, trying to bring his voice back from desperation. “It’s fine.” He tossed a look back at Jesse and Rabbit. “You’re dismissed. Go get some sleep.”

            Jesse and Rabbit murmured their “yes sir”s and hurried away. Appo wondered if he would ever be able to talk to the men. There were walls in front of so many of them when he approached. Singer was one of the only exceptions.

            “So,” the trooper said, moments after Appo realized it was Commander Cody. “Still no word from the generals. The fleet can’t get to them either. I’ll be moving out before dawn.”

            “Where’s your armor?” Appo looked over Cody’s dark, lightweight gear: chestplate, hat, rangefinder, belt and goggles. Thoughts intruded of how Cody had questioned his confidence the last time they’d spoken. Cody didn’t seem put off by that exchange. _He’s a professional._

            “Too noticeable,” said Cody. “Besides, it was a relief to change out.” The stench of the last few days clung to Appo’s armor too, but he was almost numb to it at this point. “I brought down a few of these suits with the med ships, and we can wear ponchos over them to make our outlines look more civilian. There’s a couple in walker three. That’s why I came this way.”

            Appo took a deep breath and let it out. So this was really happening. Less than five engagements after his promotion and it came to this. But Cody had the experience to back up his words, and Appo couldn’t ignore that.

 “I need an hour or so to make sure everything’s in place with my battalion. We’re sticking to the same plan as before?”

            “Yep. Let’s hope it works.” Cody sounded cheerful, and Appo pressed his lips together. _Did_ Cody’s confidence come from his long record of command, or was it something essential to his personality?

            “Yeah,” Appo muttered and turned wearily to walk back to camp, massaging the base of his own skull.  “I’ll be ready to depart before oh two hundred hours, unless disaster strikes.”

            “See you then,” Cody said, and Appo lengthened his stride a bit, just in case Cody decided to bring up the conversation he’d just overheard.

            “Wit, return to your post. Kix,” Appo said to the comm. “Jesse and Rabbit are alright. They went to hunt for dropped sensors.”

            An unmistakable sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. I’ll rest easy now. Right after I punch Jesse in the face.”

            “I wouldn’t advise adding to the injured,” Appo muttered.

            “No, sir.” Kix’s voice was hard to hear. “It was a bad joke.”

            Of course it was a joke. Appo didn’t know why he’d even bothered to say such a pedantic thing.

            “Appo out. Singer, come in.”

            “Did you find them, sir?”

            “They’re back in the camp with comms on. Have Jesse report to you right away. He and Rabbit apparently have information about where the enemy dropped sensors nearby.”

            “Will do, sir.”

            “I’m handing temporary command to Bow. I’ll be available by comm for the next two hours, but you and the other officers should try to collaborate with the officers of the Two-Twelfth and come up with a plan for if Commander Cody and I don’t make it back.”

            “Yes, sir. Don’t worry about us. Respectfully, I’d like to suggest you get some rest before you head out, sir. Once you hand over command, Bow and the other captains can answer any questions the men have.”

            “Your suggestion is noted,” Appo said, a phrase he’d had to practice so often lately that it now came out whenever he didn’t know what to say.

            A brief silence. Then, “Thank you for taking a risk for the rest of us, sir. I hope you and Commander Cody find the generals.”

            “Thank you, Singer,” Appo said, unsettled at the thought that Singer might have taken his response as a dismissal. “I appreciate… I appreciate it.”

            “Good luck, sir.”

            Appo held in a sigh. “You too, Lieutenant.”

            It only took a few minutes to find Bow, and pass on his reports, maps and strategy notes. Bow simply nodded and said, “Very good, sir,” to everything.

            “Well then,” Appo said. “It’s not complete, and you’ll have to collaborate with Kix and the other medics on filling out the rest of the duty roster. I’ll leave you to set up the strategy meeting with the other officers.”

            “Yes, sir. Very good. I will comm them immediately.”

            And he did. Appo stepped away, leaving him to methodically pass on the orders. For a few moments, as he walked, he considered going to the strategy meeting or checking the casualty report with Kix for the hundredth time, instead of heeding Singer’s advice. But if he was really going to do this, he had to rest. Focusing was already difficult.

            Alright. He would go find some water to carry, and report that so that Cody could load up on other supplies instead. Then he would sleep for an hour or so. All around him the camp was going quieter by the minute, tired bodies going still all over the ground, leaning on one another. Appo caught himself scanning the crowd for Bleak, remembering the time before Umbara, and their close-knit squad. They’d served together for months before that mission, the same troopers, surviving battle after battle.

            All but Bleak were gone. Appo hadn’t had more than a few-seconds-long conversation with Bleak since his reassignment and he didn’t want to interrupt his integration into a new unit by singling him out. He wasn’t supposed to give special attention to any one trooper anyway, was he?

            Still, it had been a long time since Appo had laughed at anything, or spent a night talking brother-to-brother before falling asleep. Nods and cursory greetings of “Commander” met him as he filled a pack with water at walker seven, and he nodded back professionally. Then he wandered back into the deep shadow between walker seven and eight, wanting to be out of sight but still in earshot of the others who were hydrating themselves.

            He didn’t get to hear much of what they said. The mere sound of their voices faded into sleep almost as soon as he sat down and laid his head back against the walker’s metal leg.

…

            “Appo, it’s Cody. Ready to move out, Commander?”

            It took more than one try to open his eyes. “Ready,” Appo said, before he was even fully awake.

            “I’m on the east side of camp.”

            “Copy that.” Appo pushed himself to his feet, shook his arms and legs to try and get the blood flowing, and realized he hadn’t changed into the gear Cody had recommended. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

            Nearly all the men were asleep now. Appo ran through the middle of camp as softly as he could. The quiet night felt like another presence hanging over them in the warm black sky.

            It _was_ a relief to change out of armor. Appo stowed it all in walker two, feeling lighter and more vulnerable with his limbs so free. Cody waited, chatting with one of his troops when Appo approached. The medic split off as soon as he saw Appo, and Cody waited for him before turning toward the edge of the mesa.

            “Since our Jedi won’t be needing them.” Cody held out a poncho, similar to the one he was already wearing, and Appo took it with a surprised noise.

            “This is General Skywalker’s?”

            “I guess they came up with some better disguises this time.”

            Appo sighed. He wasn’t sure Skywalker would approve, but there was nothing to be done about that now. Appo pulled the poncho over his head, feeling a bit like an imposter and wondering if Rex had ever worn it. Cody certainly seemed at home in his.

            They didn’t speak to each other as they climbed the side of the caldera. Nearly an hour passed that way, just trudging and puffing with the dull clatter of rocks sliding under them in the dark, jumping when they thought they heard the hushed descent of an avian scavenger. Appo knew the plan only in outline. They couldn’t do as the Generals had done—they didn’t have days to travel the main road disguised as civilians, didn’t have the Force to mind-trick guards at each checkpoint or quietly deactivate tactical droids. They would have to commandeer a civilian or separatist transport to get in.

           He watched Cody climb ahead, no hint of hesitation in his movements. _He’s been on missions like this before_ , Appo told himself. Surely he had a separate plan for every possible contingency, but was sparing Appo the details. And every time Appo fell slightly behind and looked up at the Commander’s silhouette against the rocks in the dark, he caught himself falling back into the easier role of a lower officer following his commander. 

            _We’re the same rank_ , Appo reminded himself. But if he asked for clarification, it might seem combative. They’d already clashed once—Appo didn’t want that to become a pattern.

            As they came to the edge, a flurry of leathery wings interrupted the silence. It burst up from inside the caldera—Appo fired before he even saw it, his finger squeezing the trigger before his conscious mind even completed the thought. He fired again and again, unable to see more than a scattered blackness covering the stars and just waiting for the earsplitting roar he’d heard in the jungle. It wouldn’t take full shape—his eyes wouldn’t focus—

            “Whoa, what are you doing?!” Cody was beside him, pushing down his rifle. “Stop, _stop it!_ You’ll alert the enemy!”

            Appo stopped, panting.

            “They’re probably just bats,” Cody whispered, as the chaos of wings dispersed. “Look, they’re too small to really get us.”

            It wasn’t the monsters from the jungle. As Appo stared, the disjointed beast of his imagination dissolved—each bit of blackness really was a separate animal.

            “Look at them.” Appo breathlessly pointed toward the silhouettes against the larger of Saleucami’s moons that had just risen. “They’re fanning out. Real regular spaces between them….”

            “Maybe it’s just how they hunt,” said Cody; his voice was so calm.

            _And I panicked_ , Appo chastised himself, but jumped again at a clatter on the rocks nearby.

            “Eh.” Cody turned. “I think you hit one.”

            Appo hurried toward the sound, and heard Cody following. It did look like a bat, though its body was the size of a large tooka. It scurried awkwardly away from them, climbing back across the rocks toward the rim of the caldera, despite its smoking wing. The smell of burning flesh and hair was awful. An unnatural _clack-clack_ came from beneath it.

            “What’s _that?_ ” Appo gestured toward the noise, leaning down to get a look at the creature’s belly, and Cody reached for it with the end of his rifle. It hissed and beat its wings wildly, revealing a black box strapped around its middle. 

            “I’ll bet this is how the separatists are dropping those sensors.” Cody backed away quickly. “Let’s hope it hasn’t already reported our position.”

            “It hasn’t released anything that looks like the sensors we’ve found yet,” Appo whispered, scanning the ground. “Should I kill it?” he asked, before remembering again that he was a commander too.

            “No… it might be transmitting vitals and position back to whoever sent it out. Let’s leave it alone and get some distance before we go down. Inform Bow, he can pass it along to Ricky and the other captains.”

            Cody motioned Appo to follow him west along the edge of the caldera’s rim, stopping occasionally to look down inside and mark their position. The way in looked harder to Appo from this direction, but Cody seemed confident.

            “Bow, come in,” Appo whispered into his comm.

            “Here, sir.”

            “It looks like the enemy is using some sort of bat-like creatures to drop the sensors. We just found one with a box strapped onto it. Pass the news along to Ricky, maybe you can figure out a way to keep those things away from the camp.”

            “How big are they, sir? Like the birds in the jungle?”

            “No, these are smaller. Wingspan is about a meter, maybe one and a half.”

              “Very good. I’ll spread the word. Thank you sir.”

            Appo signed off and kept up the hike along the caldera’s edge, wondering why Cody hadn’t informed Ricky himself. The Commander glanced down the cliffs every few meters, probably looking for a more ideal spot to climb down. Appo held in the thought that the way was getting rougher the further they went in this direction.

            Twenty minutes later, Cody said, “I left orders with my men to scout around and eliminate any sensors they found.”

            “Bow will be giving similar orders to the Five Oh First troops now.”

             “Maybe it’ll keep the restless ones busy,” Cody added.

            Appo nodded half to himself, wondering what he was going to do with Avenger. The trooper was a liability, but he didn’t like the idea of telling Skywalker about it.

            Fifty steps later, Cody spoke again. “I’ve known Jesse for a while. Rex always liked him.”

            “I know,” Appo tried in vain to read anything he could from Cody’s posture in the dark. “He’s a good soldier.”

            “Has that changed recently?”

            Appo looked down into the caldera again, his face heating a bit. Was Cody actually paying attention to where they were going? “Are there even any aircraft down there for us to steal?” he muttered.

            “They’re probably just… feeling unsure,” Cody said.

            Appo watched him stop by a pair of heavy boulders and shoot his rifle’s cable line onto one of them. He silently moved to follow suit, waiting for Cody to get the hint and stop talking.

            But the commander went on. “Maybe they just need to know that you trust them too. Whatever they were doing, I doubt it was intended to undermine your command.”

            “Commander.” Appo shot and tested his own line, careful to keep his voice respectful and light. “I can deal with my own battalion. Let’s just focus on this mission for now.”

            “Fair enough. I’m not sure how familiar you are with some of the men. I’ve fought with many of them over the last three years.” Cody walked backward over the edge.

            “So have I, over the last two.” Appo followed him down. “I doubt a year makes that much difference. I’m not punishing them for anyth—” he grunted as his foot slipped on the cliff side. “Anything.” Appo regained his footing quickly, muscles trembling from the adrenaline that had spiked his nerves in anticipation of a long fall. He wished Cody would stop distracting him. He wished he wasn’t so easy to distract.

            “They left camp without telling anyone where they were going?”

            “To hunt enemy sensors,” Appo said abruptly. “I fail to see why you need to know that, but if I’m setting an example of clear communication….”

            “Well, if you’d like some advice—”

            “Not really.”

            “—you want to give them something to….” Cody stopped. “Alright.”

            “No offense.” Appo only realized he was clenching his teeth because his jaw hurt. He wasn’t afraid of heights, so what was going on? _I’m angry_ , he realized. “I think we’d both better focus on the descent.”

            Cody said nothing to that, and Appo took the lead going down, his mind racing to decide whether he’d overstepped himself. As a sergeant his response would have been disrespectful. But every experience he’d had since his promotion told him to defend his rank. The less Cody knew about the mess Appo was trying to clean up, the better. Appo remembered the way Admiral Tarkin had chastised them all in front of the general. For the hundredth time he wondered how Rex could have made such a mistake after being the only voice of reason on Umbara. The thought of how easily even a great leader could slip made Appo suddenly aware of his own clammy sweat.

            He focused on his breathing and his footing, walking backward down the rock face in the dark, the cord humming as it unraveled through the attachment on his rifle. At any moment a blaster bolt could come out of nowhere and that would be it.

            They reached more manageable climbing before their length of cord ran out, but kept attached for a meter or so before taking off the rifle attachments.

            _This is a mistake_. He hesitated to let go of the cable even as Cody climbed down and away. He could still go back, and stay with his battalion. Appo imagined Skywalker’s cold anger, or the admiral’s, faced with the news that he had not only diverted from the plan to rescue Skywalker, he had failed and compromised the entire mission.

            It might not be too late to call this off. He looked down at Cody’s rapidly receding silhouette, and let go of the cable line.

…

            Down among the vegetation, the adrenaline still hadn’t gone away.

            “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Appo muttered under his breath, rifle held at the ready under his poncho.

            “Don’t worry,” Cody laughed under his breath. “This isn’t the craziest plan I’ve ever tried.”

            “Without a Jedi?”

            Cody stopped and took a step backward so suddenly that Appo brought his rifle up against Cody’s shoulders to steady them both.

            “What? What happened?” Appo looked around, seeing nothing but shadows and silhouettes of plant life, absolutely still in the windless valley.

            “Nothing. I thought I heard something.”

            Appo held his breath and listened, wishing his nerves would calm. He needed to be just as alert as Cody. After thirty seconds, he whispered, “I don’t hear anything.”

            “Come on.” Cody led the way forward, sticking to dirt and rocks as they moved through brush, grass, and gravel. Appo followed step for step, circling around the anti-aircraft turret. The silhouettes of the B-1s guarding it occasionally turned in their direction but only once did they fire a shot, narrowly missing Cody’s leg and setting a small patch of grass smoldering near Appo’s feet. They both stayed still as statues.

            “Huh. Maybe it was just a lizard,” one of the droids said.

            “You idiot,” another of the droids whined. “You could start a fire! We have orders not to burn down the town. Unless the civilians get too restless. Heh heh.”

            “Heh heh heh,” the first droid laughed unnaturally. “Wait, what?”

            Once they completed a wide circle around the droids, Appo could see houses, most of them dark but one with lighted windows further down the neatly laid street. There were speeders parked in front of many of them, more droids patrolling the streets.

            “I don’t see any aircraft,” Appo whispered, hooking his scopes back to his belt. “And from the looks of things, the droids are enforcing a curfew.”

            “There must be a hangar here somewhere. Flying is the easiest way in and out of this place. I doubt the clankers came in on foot.” Cody studied the town from between the heavy branches of the conical tree they hid behind. “We’ve been looking for less than an hour. Try to be patient.”

            “How long do we plan to look? What’s our backup plan if there’s no aircraft?”

            “Working on it.” Cody headed to the left, sticking to the shadows of the buildings.

            “Wait. You do have a backup plan, right?” Appo stopped, but Cody didn’t even look back, so Appo hurried to catch up. “You’re not just improvising?”

            “A good commander always thinks on his feet.”

            “But—what you did with the airstrike—you considered all the options? You were sure it would work? You took my battalion’s lives into your hands, even when I objected.”

            “It worked,” Cody said simply. “If I’d stopped to argue, more of those men would be dead right now.”

            Appo considered that. “Is that how it worked when Rex was in charge? Because you were friends?” Everyone knew Rex’s title of Captain didn’t reflect his true rank. “Or is it a privilege of being a marshal commander?”

            “The Captain,” Cody said, his voice suddenly stilted, “knew what was worth risking and what wasn’t. Sometimes better than I did. And _I_ knew when—” he stopped.

            Appo waited for him to go on, but when he didn’t, he asked, “You knew when to override his orders? If you had been there on Anaxes, maybe you could have stopped him.”

            Cody inhaled sharply—a rustle nearby brought them both around, sinking low in the brush with their rifles pointed toward the sound. They crouched like that for nearly three minutes, trying to make out whether any of the night-vision blurs hadn’t been there before. Nothing. Slowly, Cody crept forward again. Appo followed, half-crawling, thinking about Cody’s deduction that if there were droids, there had to be aircraft.

             “Maybe they dropped the clankers off and flew back to the port,” Appo suggested once they were a good distance away and felt safe to stand. “They don’t need a way to retreat. They’re droids. Even the seppies would rather leave them to get scrapped.”

            “But the civilians must also have a way of getting supplies in and out. Those speeders can’t go straight up the cliffs.”

            “Hmm….” Cody was right, again.

            For another hour, then two, they circled the inside of the caldera, never once spotting a separatist craft or even anything more than a speeder, although they counted at least two hundred battle droids and even heard the low grating voice of a super tactical droid. A small lake lay in the center of the caldera, and around it were narrow swaths of farmed fields.

            _What would you have done, on Umbara?_ Appo wanted to ask, as they darted from shadow to shadow, between buildings and bushes and woody trees. But hindsight was always clearer, and now wasn’t the time for a discussion. _How much do you know about what happened on Anaxes?_ The less talk the better—it was hard enough evading the droids as it was.

            As they veered away from town, between tall rows of leafy gourd-bearing plants to get a better look at a building that could be a hangar, the urge to turn back grew stronger. _We have no idea what we’re doing_ , Appo thought, although their search pattern was logical, and Cody’s confident gait never wavered. I _don’t know what I’m doing_.

            “If we don’t find any aircraft here,” Cody whispered, “we’ll take some speeders and look somewhere else.”

            _Somewhere else. Very specific coordinates._ Appo held in a sigh and looked back the way they’d come, wondering what Cody would do if he simply insisted on going back. What would _he_ do when he got back to the 501st? There had to be a better way than fumbling around in the dark hoping for a miracle _. Coward_ , he growled at himself.

            The light from a speeder caught his eye near the center of town. It began moving and gathering speed, and as Appo watched it veer toward the cliff walls without slowing down, the light disappeared, silently.

            Bristling, Appo grabbed for Cody’s shoulder. “Look!”

            “What?” Cody turned.

            “It’s gone now, but—there was a speeder, it disappeared into the wall.”

            “What wall?”

            “The cliff. It didn’t slow down, and there was no sound of impact…do you think there are—”

            A snap of brush at the end of the row made them both whirl around, and a light flashed in their eyes. A lone blue-gray reptilian in dark clothing stood in front of them when their vision cleared, a toolbox in one hand, the handle of a small cart in the other. He dropped the toolbox and took a step back when Appo pulled out his rifle. A hydrospanner spilled out and clattered across the ground.

            “Soldiers!” the reptilian cried. “You’re Republic soldiers!”

            “Shh! Don’t… move….” Cody said, raising his free hand. “Don’t make any noise. Turn off that light!”

            Appo jumped a little closer to Cody. “I don’t see any droids close enough to notice us,” he whispered. “We could shoot him before he makes any noise.”

            “ _Don’t shoot_ ,” said the Gossam in a mild, hushed voice, three-fingered hands raised. He reached for the lamp with his hoof-like foot and shut it off. “I have no weapon! I’ll say nothing! You never were here.”

            Cody motioned Appo to lower his rifle. Appo jerked his head toward the Gossam and they both advanced. The reptilian’s calm wavered.

            “What are you doing?”

            “People on Coruscant say never trust a Gossam’s word,” Cody said, when he was almost right beside the little mechanic. The Gossam was only a meter and some tall, not even one and a half. “You seem like an honest man at first glance, but first—”

            “O-kay… not a man, act-u-ally,” the Gossam said. His scaly protruding mouth pinched at Appo’s blaster being so close, even lowered as it was. “My name is Zin Chek. There. Now, you know more about me, than I do about you.”

            “Whatever a male Gossam is called, then.”

            “Not male.” Appo couldn’t see her expression past the afterimage of the lamp. “Okay. Never mind. Do you want something, soldier?” She spoke her Basic steadily and clear, almost like a Kaminoan, but faster. When neither of them spoke, her nerve seemed to build. “If you are determined to make assumptions about me simply because of Shu Mai’s tyranny, maybe it will be easier for both of us if you shoot me for no reason. _People_ on Saleucami say never trust a soldier to prefer talking. Okay?” Her voice wavered but she put on a good show, head held high. “I hope _people_ are wrong.”

            Appo glanced at Cody and lowered his rifle a little. There didn’t seem to be anything in her toolbox that qualified as a weapon.

            “What are you going to do here?” she asked, ignoring the blaster now. “You want to blow up more of here?”

            “We’re not here to blow up anything,” Cody said quietly. “We’re looking for some kind of aircraft. Maybe you can help us.”

            “This is a barn,” Zin Chek said, tossing her head at the building behind her. “The battle outside closed most ways. It took me hours to get home, thanks to you!”

            “What do you mean?” Cody asked. “You mean… you don’t use aircraft. You use the old lava tubes as transport tunnels. You work at the spaceport? Public systems or private?”

            Appo watched Cody work, impressed at his deductions.

            “Not either,” sighed Zin Chek. “That is what I should say.”

            “Look… Zin Chek,” Appo broke in amicably, seeing what Cody was doing. “You obviously know the best route to the port, if you just came from there. Give us a map of the tunnels and we’ll be on our way.”

            “A map of the electrical systems would be even better,” Cody added.

            “What makes you think I have anything like that?” she said. “And why? Do you tell me you are here to bring the power back to the city?”

            “The city… doesn’t have any power?” Cody asked. “What do you mean?”

            Zin Chek looked between them and set her toolbox on the cart. “Hmm.”

            She dragged the cart past them and back toward town, and they walked after her as casually as they could.

            “Two nights ago, all electrical systems in the central district of Fe Tal stopped working, even some with batteries.” She kept her voice low. “They let me go home tonight to check if my family was alive just because I told them I had rare parts that can repair it. There are other mechanics working every hour to get back the full communication with their armies.”

            “Hang on,” Cody said. “Communication with _their_ armies, you said. So… you’re not a separatist.”

            “If I was separatist, why would I tell you this?” She didn’t look at them, just continued walking, right into the street. Appo followed, mimicking Cody’s casual gait. The houses around them had few lit windows, but a handful of civilians lingered in the doorways and porches of other buildings. “I know what you think. All Gossam are owned by the Commerce Guild, and Shu Mai expects all her people to help in war. Does it matter that my family gave up a life of pretending and came here to get away from her politics? Maybe not. Now she follows us here with droids. This was a quiet planet. I like it that way. Now where do we go?” She waved her lamp briefly in frustration. “Coruscant has banished Gossam. Other Republic worlds will not welcome us either, I think.”

            “So you can’t help us,” Cody said, after a pause. “Even if you want to. You don’t know who’s responsible for knocking out the power?”

            “It is a war thing. I don’t know. Does it matter who did it? All it means for me is more work.”

            “I didn’t know Gossam were banned from Coruscant,” Appo murmured. “Now that I think of it, I’ve never seen them there.”

            “We’re trying to get the separatists off Saleucami,” whispered Cody when they stopped by a speeder and Zin Chek jumped onto her flat cart and began lifting the equipment into the speeder’s tarp-covered trailer. “The Republic doesn’t care who lives here, as long as the separatists are gone. If you help us, Republic forces will keep Shu Mai away from your family.”

            Zin Chek smiled and turned her head just a little. “Something else they say on Coruscant, you _should_ listen to. Never try to get the better of a Gossam by bargaining.” She hummed a droning tone while she strained to lift the last few large pieces of equipment onto the trailer. Cody and Appo glanced at each other before Cody jumped onto the cart to lift the load for Zin Chek.

            “You’re headed back to the port tonight?”

            Zin Chek puffed in surprise when the equipment left her hands. Cody placed it carefully on the cart.

            “I am not being bought,” she said warningly. “I hate the war.”

            “Just wanted to help,” Cody said lightly and shrugged. “You don’t owe us anything, but we could use a guide. Or a lift.”

            “If we don’t get to the port, there will be more battles near villages like these,” Appo said, and grabbed an armload of tech as well. “If we do get to the port, things won’t take much time to settle down. We want the fighting to be over, too. We’re tired.”

            “It is not your home shaking,” sighed Zin Chek as she climbed into the driver’s seat. “Ah well. Soldiers with guns hide on my speeder. What can I do about it? Nothing.”

            “Fair enough,” said Cody apologetically. “But thank you. We owe you one. Is it Chek or Zin?”

            “Zin Chek,” said Zin Chek, and turned on the engine.

            Appo and Cody jumped up into the trailer and secured the tarp over the tech.

            “If the power is out at the central district,” Cody said quietly to Appo, “maybe the grid is down, but the Generals still need help if they haven’t contacted us by now.”

            Appo frowned; he had to agree. They both slipped under the tarp, bunched up together near the front.

            “How do you know we can trust this little shaft crawler?” Appo whispered over the dual droning sounds of the engine and Zin Chek’s humming. “She could take us anywhere.”

            “If you’re worried, keep an eye on your holomap.”

            It was even darker under the tarp than it was outside, and Appo’s eyes were drawn away from the blob that was Cody, to the passing plants and stones lit by the speeder’s headlights. Then, it was all rock, and the sound of the engine turned back toward them, bouncing off the tunnel walls. The wind of their speed ruffled the tarp and the ponchos, and Appo shivered, tense as the cloth flapped against his hands and the rifle they held.

            Since Rex had been sent away— _executed for treason_ , a part of his mind said—Appo had turned all his attention to rebuilding the battalion, and trying to learn what Skywalker expected of him. He’d had little reason to interact with Cody or any other clone commander beyond cursory battlefield updates while their respective generals were calling the shots. It was one thing to command his own men, to be a link in the chain running from Skywalker down to the shiniest rookie, but Cody’s presence put him on edge and made him feel like he was back in that room with Admiral Tarkin all over again, staggering at this unexpected promotion and trying to keep a straight face.

            Their clash earlier had proven what he’d feared; Cody, and everyone else, couldn’t help comparing him to Rex. Neither could he.

            Appo flexed his fingers to keep them from cramping up around his rifle, and let the roar of the engine and the flapping of the tarp cover an angry, helpless sigh.

            “Tell me something about yourself, Appo.”

            “Mm?” Had Cody heard him sighing?

            “Do you have any tattoos?”

            “Commander.” Appo paused, taken off guard. “I don’t think now is the best time.”

            Cody didn’t reply, leaving Appo wondering what was running through his head. There were much more personal questions on his mind, but he wasn’t sure the answers would do him any good.

…

            Had it been an hour, or half the night? Appo kept waiting for a checkpoint, or any sight of the enemy. But there was nothing to see when he peered beneath the tarp. The longer the engine roared in his ears, the harder it was to stay confident in their chances of success.

            Then, the colors from beyond the tarp changed. Instead of steady darkness, they were passing bright strips of light at intervals.

            “We are almost there,” Zin Check said suddenly.

            Appo had almost forgotten there was someone driving the speeder. He turned on the holomap for the dozenth time, and after a moment he could see the little dot that represented their position, just colliding with the outer edge of the city.

            Cody shifted beside him, mumbling. “Rex?”

            Appo looked over, stomach twisting. But the commander’s eyes were closed; Appo jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow, and Cody jerked awake. Was he so calm that he could sleep anywhere?

            “Wh…what? What happened?” Cody straightened, looking around.

            “Soldiers,” Zin Chek hissed, “I will try to distract anyone when I stop, before they look at the back.”

            “Thank you,” Cody said, slowly shifting to a crouch. His voice showed no sign of confusion at being woken so suddenly. “The name’s Cody, by the way.”

            “Cody. I won’t remember it. You humans all look the same to me, I’m sorry.”

            Cody laughed. Appo felt desperate, wound tight from hours, days of expecting a sudden attack.

            “Focus,” he hissed to himself. “We have to get off this trailer and find the Generals without getting caught.”

            “At least the map of the city is more detailed than the rest of it,” Cody pointed out, and Appo looked down again. They were passing into the central district now. Suddenly, the strip lights stopped and it was just Zin Chek’s headlight again.

            “Zin Chek,” Appo said, unable to hold it in any more now that the silence was broken. “You haven’t asked us why we need to get into the port.”

            “You want to spy, maybe,” Zin Chek said. “Or sabotage more of it. I don’t know. It will probably make my job harder, whatever it is. You will probably get captured just like the first ones.”

            “Wait—so they _were_ captured?” Cody said, twisting to face the driver. “I thought you said you didn’t know—!”

            “Hello officer!” Zin Chek said loudly, without slowing down her speeder. A second light source grew rapidly. “I’m in a hurry! I have equipment to fix the city and I am late!”

            “Hey! Wait!” whined the voice of a B-1, but a more organic voice said, “Got it, move along!”

            “Thank you! Good morning!” Zin Chek yelled, and the light faded out.

            Appo shifted to hands and knees, trying to see out from under the tarp. He just caught a glimpse of the receding checkpoint, and the next one was coming up quick. “Droid sentries at every fork. This isn’t gonna be easy.”

            “They haven’t stopped us yet. Zin Chek, did the saboteurs get taken to the prison block?”

            “Where else? High security still has power. Maybe you plan to cut it… you need access.”

            “A code?”

            _Why didn’t I think to question her more?_ Appo thought. Instead he had spent hours trying to pull a strategy out of the blank space in his brain. Immobilized, like dumb livestock.

            Zin Chek sighed explosively. “You are really going to die! Do you not care? Is it about glory?”

            “We have to complete—” Appo began, but Cody interrupted.

            “We’re trying to rescue our friends.”

            Zin Chek didn’t say anything. The speeder continued straight for a few minutes, then veered sharply right. Appo slammed into Cody before righting himself—the equipment banged and rattled around, and a far corner of the tarp snapped free.

            “Well,” Cody said to Appo, pointing at the holomap still projecting from Appo’s wrist. “Looks like we’re going to the prison block, one way or another.”

            “She’s going to hand us over,” Appo whispered. “There’s nothing for her to gain by helping us!”

            “We’ll have to risk it. It’s getting us closer to our goal either way.”

            “You must have very bad hearing,” Zin Chek said over the roar of the speeder. It was accelerating. “You think you are talking so quiet. Taking no side means nobody is on my side. I am starting to see. You can shoot me but if I am alive I can help you. Maybe Jedi will be as noble as they think they are. Maybe remember that one Gossam is not a traitor. Maybe draw the fighting to here instead of by the homes. There are reasons.”

            “I’ll tell my Jedi about you,” Cody promised. “I’m sure he’ll do whatever he can to help your people.”

            “You can help right now!” Zin Chek yelled, a new urgency in her voice.

            Cody shoved the tarp aside and sat up on one knee, and Appo followed. The tunnels were still dark apart from the headlight but up ahead he saw a forcefield stretching across a checkpoint where half a dozen B-1s were stationed.

            “Appo, take right!” Cody yelled. “We can knock it out!”

            “Are we going to slow down?!” Appo asked, already firing, his aim going wide the first two shots. Five shots later and the light fizzled out, two seconds before they screeched through, the speeder peppered with blaster bolts from the droids. Zin Chek yelled and swerved a little.

            “If I survive long enough to get you there!”

            “You’re doing great!” Cody yelled. “Keep going!”

            “The light doesn’t reach that far!” Appo argued. “We could crash before we know what’s coming! We need to slow down!”

            “You have a map!” Zin Chek yelled back. “Use it!”

            “It doesn’t show the tunnels! It just says we’re under the city!”

            “How far until we’re at the edge of the complex?” Cody asked.

            Appo fumbled with his rangefinder. The numbers flashed in his eyes. “Two hundred meters!”

            Zin Chek screeched something that sounded like a curse and hit the brakes. Appo pushed himself back from the rails and felt Cody grabbing at him with one hand. The trailer began to drift and push the speeder sideways and then they were spinning, Zin Chek clinging to the controls, Appo and Cody balled up by the rails while the tarp came free and the heavy equipment smashed against them. Something struck the side of his head and he tasted blood before the weight tumbled back onto his leg—pain lanced up from his knee, lightning splitting his femur and hip and burning out to the edge of his skin.

            “Get up! Get up, get up!” Zin Chek was practically spitting, and he heard himself gasping. Something clanged loudly against the bars of the trailer. Appo finally found his voice and groaned as the weight shifted—Cody was lifting what looked like a huge battery off his trapped leg.

            “Get up, get up! We have to go!” Zin Chek hopped up and down. “The droids will be here!”

            “Guh,” Appo said as he took Cody’s offered hand and staggered to his feet, nearly choking on his own breath. _It’s only pain_ , he told himself. He could stand; it wasn’t broken. Appo’s knee buckled but he vaulted over the trailer’s edge anyway—the lightning went up into his skull as soon as his feet hit the ground; he grunted and fell.

             It was dark, and the speeder’s engine was still running, powering the light that showed only a blank stone wall. The light on the end of Cody’s rifle switched on and swung toward Appo’s leg. He pushed himself up, grinding his teeth so hard his jaw hurt.  

           “Over there!” Zin Chek said, squinting and waving her hands to her left when he flashed the light in her eyes. “Come, up the ladder!”

            She was off, toward the door of a maintenance tube, cranking the inset manual handle with all her might. Cody ran after her to help, and within a moment of opening it she was scrambling up the rungs with practiced speed. Appo tried to run after them, his knee buckling every other step, barely catching himself from falling. Cody disappeared up the tube while he was still meters away, and Appo sucked in breath through his clenched teeth, pushing himself to go faster.

            A light flashed back down just before he reached the tube.

            “Appo!” Cody’s voice called.

            “Coming,” Appo panted and limped inside, pulling the door closed behind him. He was drenched in cool sweat and it was hard getting a grip on the ladder, but he hauled himself up without hesitation, his arms and good leg quickly helping him catch up to the others.

            In the shaft, their boots on the ladder shook the dark air as rungs passed in and out of Cody’s light.

            “Here!” Zin Chek yelped at the second platform they reached, and Cody reached down to clasp Appo’s arm and help him up, just as a light flashed from below and the tinny voices floated toward them. Cody shut his light off and Appo did the same, trying to slow his breathing while Zin Chek pulled at another manual hatch.

            “Do you see anything?” one of the droids whined.

            “Uhh…no? I just see a ladder.”

            “Retrieve a flare!”

            “Roger roger.”

            With a loud creak the hatch gave way to another dark hallway; Zin Chek scrabbled at their legs with her small fingers, urging them forward. Blaster fire peppered the air behind them; Appo lurched inside; Cody slammed and cranked the door shut.

            Appo pulled up his map again, lighting the tiled space a soft blue. “We’re outside the—”

            “The prison hangar!” Zin Chek said in an urgent whisper. “Follow me!”

            They passed an open janitorial closet, and Zin Chek raced ahead out of range of their light. Cody lunged ahead and as Appo limped closer he saw she was trying to input a security code at the lift doors. A red light flashed against her face.

            “Ach, no! No, I know this!” Zin Chek clapped her hands together once and then input the code again; the pad turned green. “In, in!”

            Cody stepped into the lift and Appo hurried to catch up, each step bringing the contents of his stomach closer to his throat. A choking noise made it through his teeth just as he stepped inside, shaking.

            Cody looked over at him. “You alright?”

            Appo just panted and leaned against the wall, focusing on breathing. _It’s only pain_. _It’s just signals in your brain._ He couldn’t puke like some shiny in front of the commander. He pulled his rifle from where it rested on his back.  Cody followed suit.

            “If they start shooting at us, I am hiding behind you,” Zin Chek said nervously.

            “We’ll cover you,” Cody agreed. “Can you access the prison roster?”

            “I can do better,” Zin Chek said, “I can shut down the rays. But you hold the droids off!”

            “That’s fine,” Appo breathed, bracing himself to run again as the lift slowed.

            “Great!” Cody said.

            The lift opened to a foyer with about a dozen droids on the far end, and a tactical droid at the main computer terminal. Cody and Appo began shooting two seconds before the droids could respond; Zin Check climbed up Cody’s back beneath the poncho.

            “Get closer to the terminal!” Zin Chek ordered.

            “I’ve got it!” Appo launched off his good leg and rolled between the opening in the computer station, firing up at the tactical droid from the ground. The blasts hit it under the chin in its weak spot—the head went flying and the remaining B-1s staggered backward in surprise.

            Cody ran out from behind the pillar and side-stepped his way toward the terminal, shooting the last few droids down, one, two—“AGH!”

            His left side smoking from where the bolt grazed him, Cody staggered and ducked under the jutting edge of the nearest computer console while Zin Chek jumped off him and tore open a panel underneath.

            “If I die here I am going to be a fool,” she muttered. Appo pushed himself to hands and knees, and immediately had to shift weight off his bad knee. 

            “More droids will be here any second,” Appo said between clenched teeth.

            “Okay!” Zin Chek said impatiently, half buried in wiring, and Appo aimed for the doors, Cody following his lead now. There were three of them, branching off opposite from the lift they’d come from.

            “OKAY, I said!” Zin Chek repeated. “Let’s leave!”

            “What?” said Cody.

            “The cells are open!” She grabbed Cody’s elbow. Her scaly skin was bluer in the bright light.

            “We have to find the Generals!” Cody said. “Appo, can you still walk?”

            Appo sucked a breath between his teeth and pulled himself to his feet. “Let’s go.”

            “Which way?” Cody asked Zin Chek. “Wait… do you know where they keep confiscated weapons?”

            “Ah… let me see!” She leapt back onto the nearest terminal, picked her way between the screens and navigated the fourth one to the display she wanted. “This way!”

            Appo lurched toward the furthest corridor without looking back.

…

            The Generals’ lightsabers were inside a drawer behind two more squads of droids and a locked door. Cody pulled out both of them while Appo guarded the door, amazed that they’d made it this far.

            “Catch!”

            Appo turned and fumbled slightly as he caught it. “Could you _hand_ it to me?” he yelled before he could help himself. “This is a _lightsaber!_ ”

            “It’s not going to break,” Cody said carelessly.

            “Still—it’s—”

            “A Jedi’s life,” Cody finished. That wasn’t what Appo was going to say. “I know. For how often they say that, they’ve dropped them more times than I—”

            “Someone is coming!” Zin Chek said, from her post by the door.

            Cody and Appo spun with blasters aimed just as it opened. 

            “General Kenobi!” Cody cried.

            “ _Cody?”_ Kenobi was supporting General Skywalker, who immediately straightened and pulled away. Behind him came Aayla Secura and Stass Allie. “What are you doing here?” asked Kenobi. “I thought—is that _my_ poncho?”

            “It’s good to see you too, sir!” Cody leapt forward eagerly, and Appo shifted further back against the wall. “When we lost communication with you, we feared the worst.” Cody held out Kenobi’s lightsaber.

            Kenobi took it with a brief, incredulous grin, glancing between Cody and Appo. But his face fell. “You’re injured. Both of you.”

            Appo lifted the lightsaber he held to offer it to Skywalker, but it tore free of its own accord and sailed toward Skywalker’s open hand.

            “It…uh, it’s nothing serious, sir,” said Appo, one hand still raised and half open. “General Skywalker—are you alright?”

            Skywalker activated the saber in his left hand—his right arm was limp and torn open to reveal the wires and tendons underneath.

            “Fine,” Skywalker said sharply, and Appo came to attention with his rifle, hoping as always that Skywalker couldn’t sense as much as he feared he could. “Why aren’t you with the rest of the men?”

            “Sir. Our captains agreed to take temporary command. Commander Cody and I decided that in the event the Jedi failed, it was our duty to complete the mission and take out the port’s sensor grid. But it looks like… you beat us to it.”

            Skywalker’s face darkened, but Kenobi cleared his throat and stepped in front of him before he could respond. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said to Cody. “I need to send a message to the fleet. I hope your communicator still works.”

            “Yes, sir,” Cody said, grinning. “Last I checked.” He held his arm out to Kenobi.

            “And _I_ need to contact my commander,” Secura said, stepping lightly forward to catch the lightsaber Cody threw, just as more droids came into view behind them.

            “Door open or shut?” Zin Chek cried from the other side of the door.

            “We should find a safer place to discuss our next move,” General Allie said.

            “Right. Yes, of course.” Kenobi turned his saber on and looked at Zin Chek briefly. “Our introduction will have to wait, I’m afraid.”

            “Better than nothing!” Zin Chek said. “Follow me! The ships in the hangar are all dead!”

            It was a quick fight there with the Jedi in front, deflecting fire. Appo focused on aiming rather than masking his limp. Skywalker’s saber swings stuttered, awkward in his left hand, but he never missed either. And Zin Chek clung to Cody’s back the whole way, yelling directions.

            When they hit the empty hangar floor, it was one last mad dash before they were all cramped together in the cockpit of the nearest abandoned ship. No one was guarding ships that couldn’t fly. A squad of droids ran right past. Obi-Wan dialed coordinates on Cody’s arm and immediately began sending messages to the fleet while Appo leaned against the wall behind Skywalker’s seat, catching his breath. He could let Cody tell the tale. No one was looking at him.

            “ _Patience_ , your bombers are cleared for an airstrike on the city perimeter. _Tenacity_ , this is General Obi-Wan Kenobi, please respond. We need an airdrop of the following platoons, to be picked up at these coordinates.”

            “Commander Bly,” Secura said, when Kenobi was finished and it was her turn. “This is General Secura.”

            “General Secura!” The voice on the other end was near ecstatic. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

            While they talked, Obi-Wan settled himself carefully against the control board of the craft and folded his arms to look at Cody with some amazement. Cody stared back, resting in the pilot’s seat.

            “How did you get here so quickly?” Kenobi asked quietly, between the orders and reports being passed back and forth. “Let me guess, you stole an enemy ship?”

            “Something like that, sir.” Cody grinned a little and nodded to Zin Chek, who was perched up on the copilot-side panel watching for more droids. “Zin Chek got us in. We owe her our lives.”

            “I must find some way to thank you when we’re out of danger.” Obi-Wan smiled at the Gossam when she looked back at him.

            “I’ll hold you to your word, Jedi,” Zin Chek said, making herself as tall as she could. “I worry most for my family and my people. We will talk.”

            “Of course,” Kenobi said gently.

            “Was it… originally part of your plan to disable your own comms?” Cody asked, almost playfully.

            Kenobi chuckled. “No, I’m afraid we found ourselves in a bit of a tight spot and had no other options to disable the grid. Anakin suggested we come up with a way to send an electromagnetic pulse through the central district. Which… it turns out, was something only Anakin knew how to put together. So the rest of us just… held the droids at bay until he could finish his genius invention.” Kenobi’s voice was full of exasperated pride.

            Appo couldn’t see Skywalker’s face from where he stood behind the co-pilot’s chair, but he could hear his bitter voice. “Heh. Well… too bad I wasn’t enough of a _genius_ to get my hand working again after the pulse killed it. Or our communicators. They captured us while we were looking for a way to contact the fleet.”

            Kenobi gave an uncomfortable laugh. “The city may not be ours, but the odds are a good deal better now, Anakin.”

             “You gave your right arm to save the rest of us, sir,” Appo said softly, and everyone but Secura turned to look at him as if they’d forgotten he was there. Appo faltered, stiffening. “I’m sure I speak for the Five Oh First when I say you’re the best General we could want to lead us.”

            Skywalker turned to glance at him, and his jaw moved without his mouth opening. He turned forward again and bowed his head low. At last he stood up with a heavy sigh. “I appreciate your determination, Commander Appo.” It came out in a mutter as Skywalker passed.“Excuse me.”

            Appo stood, torn. _Determination._ What did he mean by that? Appo turned away from the eyes of everyone and followed his general out. The door closed behind him, and he hobbled quickly toward Skywalker’s receding figure.

            “General!”

            “ _Don’t_ follow me,” Skywalker snapped. “I know you’re trying to prove something.”

            “Sir….” Appo stopped.

            “I don’t need my commander to try and be my _friend_.” A moment later he was gone, down the ramp of the ship. Appo stood there, his leg beginning to shake of its own accord, then limped through the nearest open door into the cargo hold to sit down and look it over. What else was there to do?

            He took off Skywalker’s poncho and folded it up carefully, aware of what Skywalker must have thought when he saw him wearing it. And rightfully so. Appo pulled his boot off and started tenderly rolling up the leg of his pants.

            “How bad?”

            Cody’s voice made him glance up, and Appo grunted at his purple shin. “Deep bruising… something worse with my knee, though. Not sure if it’s just my imagination—seems crooked.”

            “Did you say anything else to Skywalker?” Cody asked, too casually.

            Appo went very still, both hands cupped around his knee. “Like what?” he asked. Had they heard what Skywalker had said to him?

             “Look… Appo, you… you were right.” Cody sat down on the edge of a crate facing the door. “About General Skywalker. I don’t know what he expects. Even General Kenobi doesn’t know everything that’s in his head right now. And there’s obviously something going on with the Five Oh First. Why the standardization?”

            “It’s just camouflage,” Appo said, wishing he wasn’t still breathless.

            “I’m not talking about the camouflage. I saw your battalion before they left the _Tenacity_. Every last man had the same pattern, even Torrent Company.”

            “I don’t want to talk about this,” Appo said abruptly. “I’m sure the order will reach your battalion soon. We were just one of the first to have it implemented. It doesn’t mean anything.”

             “You expect me to believe that?” Cody sighed.

            Appo rubbed his knee slowly with both hands, looking at the floor, grasping for ways to end this conversation. He would have to face Cody’s opinion of him, and Skywalker’s as well. “You miss Rex, don’t you?”

            Cody’s leg twitched toward his chest—he drew his foot up toward the crate, then put it back down and folded his arms. “What does that have to do with anything?”

            “Everything’s different now,” Appo muttered, hissing a little as he shifted position, stretching his leg out in front of him. “It’s better if both of us accept that. I’m trying to work with the current situation. To be what I have to be, and that’s what we’re all expected to do, as soldiers. Let’s not…make this personal, alright? It isn’t personal.” He looked up wearily.

            Cody took a deep breath. “Right. I know. I didn’t—”

            “From now on, if we don’t want to talk about it… we don’t talk about it.” Appo rolled down his pants and started tugging his boot back on. “Agreed?”

            Cody stood up, looking back toward the open hold door. “Fine,” he sighed. “I was just…. Fine. I’m going to get some rest.” Cody held out a hand to help him up.

            “Good idea,” Appo murmured, not moving.

            Cody let his hand drop and didn’t look back at Appo. He turned and walked away, and Appo let himself fall back against the crates, exhausted.


	28. Chapter 28

            Line by line, they marched under the western sun. The sky was clear and a smoky green near the horizon. Jesse walked quickly in the middle of a shoulder-to-shoulder line of about thirty men, mixed ranks of 501st and 212th, with the same ahead and behind him. His upper arm was still bound to his chest beneath his injured shoulder, to keep it from moving too much or getting strained further during battle. He held his rifle awkwardly. The city was in view between the tall scraggly brush, an uneven triangle drawn from parallel vertical lines of metal and stone buildings.

            “All clear behind us, Brin?” Bow called back from front ranks.

            “About fifty clankers incoming at… seven o’clock.”

            “Stern here. My platoon will get them. Kaze’s too.”

            “Ricky here. All clear from the walkers.”

             “That’s two whole hours with only two hundred droids,” Singer observed on Jesse’s left.

            “This is makin’ me nervous,” Jesse murmured in a sing-song. “It’s too easy.”

            Singer laughed wearily. “We’re all a little wound up from fighting so long. Just don’t let yourself think about it.”

            Jesse looked down at the sandy soil being eaten up by his boots, the sprawling chains of half-dead ground cover, and tried not to think about reuniting with the generals and commanders.

            “Well,” Singer nudged him gently. “Now’s as good a time as any to start thinking about that song you wanted to write. I think we should start from scratch.”

            Jesse’s head jerked up. “Oh. Oh yeah. Uh…what should it be about?”

            “I dunno. Didn’t you say sometimes you just start putting down words before you even know where they’re going?”

            “Well… yeah, but,” Jesse laughed nervously, “maybe it’s different with songs, I mean, you have to fit it all to the right melody, and—”

            “You should come up with the rhythm first!” A 212th trooper on Jesse’s other side did a quick little dance step that turned him all the way around in line before he bumped into his neighbor and went back to limping forward.

            The other trooper shoved him with the flat of his rifle. “Focus, Oliver,” he groaned, sounding weary and resigned. “We’re still in a warzone.”

            “Is it a sad song or a lively one?” Oliver asked, ignoring the grump. “Fast or slow?”

            “I was thinking….” Singer paused a long moment, as the line carried them forward.

            “Yeah, we can tell, sir,” said someone, his voice overly grave.

            “I was thinking,” Singer went on quietly, “maybe a song to honor fallen brothers. Or the medics. Or the captain.”

            Avenger, who was on Singer’s other, turned his head toward them suddenly.

            Jesse felt a little sick. “We wouldn’t be singing it where people could hear, though.”

            “Why not?” Singer asked. Then, in a more subdued voice, “maybe you’re right. Maybe it wouldn’t be good for morale.”

            “It’s not that,” Jesse said, but couldn’t find the right words to elaborate.

            “Ah.” Singer nodded. “Still worried about sticking out too much after what the commander said?”

            “Commander Appo?” Oliver asked.

            Jesse swallowed. “Once we rendezvous with the generals, he might tell General Skywalker about all the… _trouble_ he’s been having with certain troopers.” Meaning him. Avenger, too, and Rabbit. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell him where I was going. It… it was a stupid thing to do.”

            “I was surprised,” Singer admitted, “but I’ll talk to him. I think he was just worried. He didn’t want to lose two more good soldiers without knowing why.”

            “He said he would decide what to do with me,” Avenger muttered, “when he saw General Skywalker again. But… they’ve been back in contact for hours, and… I haven’t heard anything yet.”

            Jesse was silent, trying and failing to find words for anything, any hint of a lyric or verse. He listened to the layered patter and drumming of all the footsteps around him instead.

            “Creak, creak, creak,” Singer sighed, referring to the groaning joints of the walkers ahead of them. “All the noise makes it hard to think of a good tune.”

            “Creak, creak, creak,” Oliver chanted, “the walkers cross the creek! No water in the riverbed….” He paused, searching for a rhyme.

            “It’s time to take a leak!” someone called, and half the line groaned so loudly that Jesse heard Singer burst out laughing.

            “Don’t talk about that!”

            “I’ve had to go for an hour!”

            “Okay okay,” Oliver laughed. “Sorry. Nothing about water.”

            “Not much of a tune, there,” Singer mused. “All one note. Maybe if….” He hummed a bit, setting the rhythm to different ups and downs.

            Jesse picked it up and tried tentatively, “Creak, creak, creak. The walkers cross the creek. No water in the riverbed… no wind to… cool my cheek.” His everything was sweaty.

            “No one around but troopers here to smell the troopers reek!” another laughed.

            “Come on, Nico!” someone groaned. “Stop ruining the song!”

            “No, no, it’s fine,” Singer laughed. “Let me see….” He cleared his throat and changed the rhythm.

            Creak , creak, creak  
            We cross the creek  
            Only brothers hear brothers speak  
            The rockets scream  
            the geysers steam…

            “Hmm,” Singer stopped, muttering under his breath. “Weak… the droid army was weak…? On the peak?”

            “The admiral glared down his beak,” said someone dryly.

            “You’ve got more of a beak than he does, Ice.”

            “I know I do, I see yours every day. But _his_ face looks more like—”

            “Uh, heh, how about we try a different start?” Singer interrupted with a forced laugh.

            Suggestions burst from the ranks almost immediately, startling Jesse. He’d thought they were all too sore and sleep-deprived to care.

            “Clank clank clank!”

            “Thud thud thud!”

            “Wait, wait, one last try for creak creak,” laughed Oliver, and cleared his throat loudly, swaying a bit as he walked and marking rhythm with arcing arm movements even with both hands on his rifle.

            Creak, creak, creak,  
            they cross the creek,  
            the troopers and the walkers.  
            Nobody care which armor they wear  
            or stow in each other’s lockers!

            Oliver finished with a lurching pirouette. Jesse laughed bitterly and heard at least a dozen others join in, wry mutters of “it’s true” and “I tried marking the inside of mine so it won’t get mixed up, but….”

            The 212th men seemed a little bemused. Jesse realized Oliver probably had no idea about the standardization order. He glanced at Singer and heard him laughing a little as the song ran away from them, improvised verses rising up whole after several minutes of people shouting over one another.

            Clank clank clank  
            the clankers clank!  
            There’s tinnies up to my eyebrows  
            Tinnies in the rocks and tinnies in boxes—  
            tinnies sticking out like tree boughs!

            “Tinnies what I eat and tinnies what I sleep and tinnies what I see when I close my eyes!” someone yowled.

            “Why haven’t we done this before?” Singer said. He sounded pleased.

            Jesse sighed. “I dunno. Maybe because when we march this long, usually we have to try and keep the enemy from noticing us?”

           “We can work on a more serious song later.” Singer’s voice softened and he clapped Jesse lightly on the back. “Don’t worry, Jesse. We’ll have plenty of time after we take the city.”

            “Yeah. As long as I’m not court-martialed,” Jesse muttered.

            “Come on … Appo’s not going to court-martial you for one slip in judgment. No one got hurt. Taking out those sensors _helped_ the battalion in the long run.”

            “Yeah. I… thanks, Singer,” Jesse sighed, listening to the other men laughing and shouting rhyme suggestions at each other. “At least morale is up, although our numbers are… down.”

            “Definitely down,” Singer agreed gently, looking around. The 212th men outnumbered them at least two to one. “But we’re nearly there.” The song continued from Jesse’s right.

            Shriek shriek shriek  
            The bombers streak  
            across the old volcano….

            “Come on, Jesse!” someone yelled. “Finish the verse! You started this game, you can’t drop out!”

            Jesse laughed. It surprised him, the way it came all the way from his stomach. “Alright….” He squared his shoulders, thought for a moment on the move, then finished. “When the order comes round, to find high ground, then…” Jesse half-snorted, remembering the hellish scramble to get out of the airstrike zone, “who are we to say no?”

            “Our fault, our fault!” some of the 212th men called laughingly.

            “Commander Cody simply has the _utmost faith in these battalions_ ,” someone else said in a grandiose voice.

            “Help, help help, the troopers yelp! The Two-Twelfth’s come to the rescue!”

            The trooper who was responsible for that line dissolved into what could only be called giggles. His nearest brothers patted him tentatively on the back as he bent over for a moment to catch his breath.

            “I, uh, think you need some sleep, Feather.”

            “W-what rhymes with… rescue?” Feather gasped between laughs.

            “Nothing, don’t even try it!”

            Blaster fire started pinging from the back ranks and Jesse raised his voice. “Alright, alright, let’s not die laughing.”

            “Better than a lot of other ways to die,” Avenger said, and Jesse was amazed to hear a stifled chuckle in his voice too.

            “Look at that,” Singer said in an admiring tone pitched only for Jesse’s ears. “You got Avenger to laugh. I’d say that’s worth at least a promotion to sergeant.”

            Jesse couldn’t think of a witty comeback for that, so he just breathed in gratefully.

            “Twelve minutes,” said Ricky over the comm, “until we reach the port’s outer wall. Expect the clankers to be thick, and remember, there _are_ civilians inside. Minimal structural damage advised. Mind your aim, gentlemen.”

            Steadily, the singing and laughing settled down. Jesse braced himself and felt safer, for just a moment, than he had in days.

…

            In the back of the ranks, between shots at the sparse droids that made it past the AT-RTs, Kix heard the raucous singing, heard people calling for Jesse to go on; a pang of relief rose up through the haze of exhaustion he was fighting. He couldn’t make out all the words Jesse sang, but it was enough to know some of the laughter might be his. At least someone was cheering him up.

            “Oh, to be a medic,” said Tucker, next to him. “I could think up a few verses of that song myself.”

            “Better not,” Kix said mildly, and shot down another B-1.

            “Yeah, _scan scan scan the medics ran_ doesn’t have quite the same ring.”

            “Didn’t your instructors teach you songs to remember the steps of different treatments?” Early asked.

            “Nothing with a tune,” Kix shrugged, trying to keep his gait steady even as he scurried backwards. The droids were breaking ranks to try and join the ones in the front.  “We just recited the steps until they stuck.”

            The song was stuck in his head forty minutes later as the heavy weapons fire from the front died down, and the back ranks finally made it through the bottleneck of the city entrance. It was a series of arched stone doorways topped with more ornamental arches further back, but only one of them had been forced open with tow cables and the force of AT-TEs. When Kix passed through into the dark alcove beyond, he listened for the screams of injured brothers and switched to night vision.

            There was nothing but footsteps: eerie, quiet, hundreds of footsteps in the dark. He saw the milling forms of his brothers splitting off in four directions, moving around checkpoints, kiosks, and vending tables.

            “Dash, you’re with me,” he murmured, veering left and leaving the rest of the medics to choose a direction.

            The doors into the main part of the city were wrenched open. Out into the street, then, and Kix turned off night vision. It was shady and dim apart from the tops of the buildings catching the last light—covered porches and walkways edged nearly every shop front or office or apartment building, held up by duracrete pillars, some striped or sectioned in two or three earthy colors.

            The streets were completely empty.

            “Reminds me of the first time we took Ryloth,” said a voice behind Kix. It was a 212th trooper. “Hopefully the droids haven’t taken any civilians hostage this time.”

            “I hate fighting in cities,” a 501st man sighed, tensely walking ahead of Kix with his gun raised to his eye. “Too many windows. I feel like they’re all watchin’ me.”

            “Shh.”

            Kix followed the rest of them through the streets, taking a covered walkway on the right. It was true—it was hard to see into any of the windows they passed. Many of them were shuttered too, but a droid could easily snipe at them between the slats. Kix just kept going, heart beating a little faster with each opening he passed.

            The road turned left just as an explosion broke the silence ahead, and everyone near Kix flinched back into the shadows, away from the screams. Kix’s visor view became a cross-stitch of red light as blasterfire flooded the street from second and third level buildings.

            Kix pelted ahead anyway toward where the dust was clearing. “What happened?” He could see at least twenty troopers on the ground, most of them not moving. Kix stopped behind a pillar and aimed carefully—a flush of grim satisfaction went through his head and neck as two droids fell from their perches.

            And then he was off running again, although his thoughts were slower, his limbs heavier than he liked. His head began to ache with the beat of his pulse and in the back of his mind, he realized he was thirsty. The thought was pushed back as soon as it occurred—he’d had a little water on the march, time to focus now.

            He ran to the body closest and checked vitals. Gone—the blaster mark through his helmet explained that. The next, working outward, was dead too, and the third. Fourth, a 212th man, was covered in shrapnel wounds and Kix worked quickly to stop the bleeding, more explosions and screams from down the street driving into his head like nails.

            He fell into a rhythm, barely speaking to the men except to check responsiveness, moving from one to the next and yelling for cover fire. Dead, alive, dead, dead, dying, minor concussion, second degree burns, internal blast wave damage. He dragged the ones he could move behind whatever cover was nearest and kept going.

            “They improvised explosives,” someone called back over the comm. “Don’t go near any fuel drums or anything else that looks suspicious!”

            Twenty minutes later, another 212th man panted in shallow, rapid gulps when Kix removed his helmet, although his distended chest barely moved. Kix’s stomach twisted. In addition to the ugly bruising and cuts on the trooper’s face, the shrapnel piercing his lungs was causing a build-up of fluids in his chest cavity.

            “Hang on, hang on,” Kix murmured as he pulled the needle and tubing from his medpack, cut the trooper’s armor and undersuit away and steadied himself to insert the needle between his ribs.

            After a tense moment, fluid began draining out the tube, and Kix gave the trooper a hypo to try and calm him—his inhalations were getting dangerously fast.

             “Can you say something? What’s your name, trooper?” The only identifying marks he could see were a set of three dot tattoos on each side of his jaw.

            No response but panting. Kix taped the needle in place and pressed a breath mask to the trooper’s face, trying to get him to meet his eyes. After a moment, he did.

            “Good. Good, just slow it down.” He pulled the trooper’s hand up and arranged his fingers over the mask. “Hold that there. Someone’s coming for you.” Kix tapped his comm. “Tucker, I’ve got one of your men over here with tension pneumothorax from shrapnel in the lung. I’ve got him draining, starting pressure wraps now. No extractions yet. Sending coordinates.”

            “Copy that, I’ll send West to get him.”

            “West is coming,” Kix patted the trooper’s hand over the mask once he was done binding up his torso and leg.

            His eyes narrowed to slits as he stared back at Kix, his breath hitching.

            “Just keep breathing.”

            Kix picked up his pack and rifle and moved to the next body in 501st colors. It was lying on its side, helmet cracked, fallen between a cracked pillar and the scorched remains of an IED that had been attached to a speeder bike. Kix checked vitals first—an erratic pulse, the entire frame rattling slightly in its armor. He pulled the helmet off, and was pulling off the trooper’s torso armor before the tiny aurebesh letters under the eye registered in his mind.

            “Singer,” he said numbly. 

            Singer’s sweaty face twitched, the muscles by his defocused eyes quivering. When Kix pulled the armor from his lower torso he convulsed with a prolonged choking noise and Kix’s stomach threatened to follow. Every exhale was a barely audible wheeze as he fell onto his back. He locked eyes on Kix’s face for a full second before they slid away.

            “Singer! Singer, it’s me, Kix.” Kix felt along Singer’s skull. Swelling; possible hairline fracture. “No. Hang on. Hang on. We’re going to put you on the first flight out of here.”

            He felt along carefully; severely broken ribs, a hip fracture—Kix guessed a small laceration of the kidney. That could explain the convulsions. Intense pain rather than brain damage… he hoped. He gave Singer a heavy dose of painkillers and began removing the rest of his armor, starting with the bloodstained thigh-plates.

            “Hang in there, hang in there,” Kix whispered under his breath as he scanned for severe bleeding. “I’ve got it, Singer.”

            “G—” a gagging scream died behind Singer’s teeth and his head jerked violently. Kix immediately grabbed his head with both hands to keep it from hitting the stone floor beneath it.

            “ _No no_ , stop, it’s okay! It’s okay,” Kix panted faintly, hunched protectively over Singer’s face. He was dimly aware that his every nerve seemed to be vibrating. Singer subsided and Kix set his head down gently, fumbled in his pack. “Looks like… a lot of blunt trauma,” he sighed unsteadily. “But I think you’re gonna make it. Try to rest easy. I’ll give you some fluids…lie as still as you can. We’ve got to keep the internal damage from getting any worse until you can get to surgery.”

            Kix took off the armor plate, cut open the arm of Singer’s body glove and reached for the emergency IV. The lieutenant’s tremors abruptly quieted as Kix inserted it under his skin.

            “Painkillers kicking in?” Kix hoped.

            Singer’s eyes fluttered toward closing, staring dazedly at the sky.

            “Can you say my name? Singer? It’s Kix.”

            Singer’s eyes closed. His head slumped and his chest stopped heaving.

            “Hey.” Kix lurched toward his face and took it in his hands. “Singer.” He felt Singer’s weakening pulse and turned his cheek to Singer’s mouth to feel for breath, counting, willing the chestplate to rise, waiting for some whisper of air on his cheek or ear.

            _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…._

            “No… no, no, no, come back! Singer!” He let his voice go rough and angry. “Come _back!_ ” he ordered, tearing Singer’s chestplate off. Kix cut Singer’s chest free of the undersuit and hurriedly wiped the sweat away. The shock pads were in place on Singer’s chest when Kix heard a rattling breath and felt a light touch on his right arm. 

            He stopped. Singer wasn’t looking at him; his eyes were open, unfocused and far away. But his fingers grasped weakly for purchase on Kix’s arm.

            Kix took Singer’s hand and laid it firmly on the ground before looking down at the display and waiting. The light switched to green; he pushed the button to administer the shock. Singer’s body jerked once. Singer’s hand lifted slightly, and fell. Kix opened Singer’s airway, grabbed his hand and held his fingers firmly to the wrist while he laid his cheek over Singer’s mouth again.

            He felt a weak breath. Then one he might have imagined, nearly eight seconds later. He raised his head, locked his hands over Singer’s sternum, and hesitated half a second, weighing the risks. Then he began pushing, counting under his breath. “ _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven….”_

At thirty, Kix breathed into Singer’s mouth, saw his chest rise twice. He kept pushing, trying not to think of broken ribs pressing into soft organs. There were no convulsions, no screams, just a small jerk of the entire body at one point. Nothing else. When Kix gave breaths a second, a third, a fourth time, Singer’s chest rose, but there was nothing. Nothing, nothing but counting. Kix started to lose count and stopped a moment, staring at Singer’s chest, arms and knees aching, head swimming.

            For a long moment, it was nothing. Kix realized _he_ wasn’t breathing. He let it out—it was loud enough to startle him, and hurt on the way back in. He began pushing down again but looked at Singer’s face, saw his open, empty eyes. His stomach caved upward into the empty space, his chest constricted, heaving. Kix sucked in lungfuls of air to push everything back down where it belonged. The defibrillator’s light finally switched to go and Kix pushed the button automatically.

            Singer breathed. Kix thought for a moment he’d imagined it. But then it came again, and faster, and Kix could feel it on his cheek when he leaned down.

            “Singer,” he breathed. “Singer, you’re alive. You’re alive.” He repeated it under his breath as he looked around for someone to help him move the lieutenant, suddenly aware of the street exploding to pieces all around him.

….

            Jesse carefully set the stretcher down on the floor of the emptied hangar. With the help of another trooper, he helped shift the 212th man off of it.

            “Thanks,” said the injured one with relief, wincing when the beams from Jesse’s helmet crossed his face. The floor was covered in wounded soldiers, and the smell was only just manageable now that the heat of the day was fading.

            It was dark. The city had fallen after a few hours of fighting, and the Jedi were off having talks with civilian leadership. The nearest medic was one Jesse didn’t know; he looked up from arranging light gauze inside an open leg wound.

            “I think that’s about the last of ‘em. Think you could monitor some of the wounded while we wait for the next evac?”

            “I’ll check in with my Lieutenant,” said Jesse. “Have you seen Kix anywhere?”

            “Yeah, a while ago… said he was gonna go get some water.”

            Jesse stepped carefully over and around the resting bodies, working a slow, winding path to the open door, where the remaining vehicles created a barrier. His knees were sore, his shoulder was burning, and he felt that whole-body exhaustion of a full day’s march and battle, but it wasn’t too bad. The city was theirs now, after all. Jesse turned off his head lamp and tapped his comm.

            “Singer, this is Jesse, requesting permission to take first watch over the wounded.”

            A pause.

            “Jesse, this is Commander Appo.” The Commander’s voice came solemnly through unusually clear in the quiet, as if he were standing next to Jesse. “Singer’s out of commission. Meet me by walker fourteen. I need to speak with you privately.”

            Jesse stopped walking. The night went even quieter than before and he listened to his own breathing, the breathing of the nearest wounded. His face warmed a little and his fingertips felt like they belonged to someone else.

            “Jesse? Do you copy?”

            “Yes, sir,” Jesse said quietly. “I’m coming.”

            He stuck one of his softer ration sticks in his mouth and walked, because he knew he needed to, and it was comforting to have something to do even if his stomach seemed nonexistant. The lump began to come apart as his teeth worried at it. Why hadn’t he asked what the commander meant? Out of commission could mean injured. It could mean dead. Jesse realized he was afraid.

            Appo was waiting in the darkness next to AT-TE 14, identifiable only by the fact that General Skywalker stood next to him, lit from beneath by a holo-map in Appo’s hand. Skywalker stepped away the moment he saw Jesse approaching. Jesse stopped a few meters short of Appo and saluted, but Skywalker walked past without a word.

            “You wanted to see me, sir,” Jesse said to Appo.

            Appo shut off the holomap, nodded and also walked past Jesse, leading him around to the side facing outward, toward the long flat landing area. There were soldiers in the distance forming a perimeter, but none close enough now to hear.

            “Sergeant Copper’s still out of commission as well,” Appo muttered without preamble. “It looks like Singer’s platoon is going to need a lot of restructuring.”

            “Yes, sir,” Jesse said, aware that his voice sounded dull. He found he couldn’t muster any fear of reprisal. If Appo took issue with it, so be it. “Is Singer dead?”

            “Not yet,” Appo said. “But his injuries are severe enough that he’ll be out of the action for at least four weeks. If he recovers.”

            Jesse swallowed and wasn’t sure what to say. The relief was painful, like blood flowing again to a crushed limb.

            Appo was silent for a moment and shifted his weight suddenly. “I thought you should know that General Skywalker and I have discussed the possibility of making you an ARC trooper.”

            Appo folded his arms, but Jesse just stared, not entirely registering the words. Then they sank in, but he had no idea what that had to do with Singer’s injuries. And there was a definite _but_ hanging on the end of Appo’s sentence.

            “Thank you, sir,” Jesse said uncertainly when the silence went on too long.

            Appo shifted again. “So you accept?”

            “I have a choice?”

            “You don’t want to be promoted?”

            Jesse took a quick breath. “Sir. I’m just… surprised you would promote someone who has been insubordinate recently.”

            Appo sighed faintly. “You’re a good soldier, Jesse. Obviously your independent thinking would be better suited for service as an ARC trooper.”

            “Thank you, sir,” Jesse said, feeling a little sick. “But if I do have a choice, I’d rather stay with the Five Oh First. It wasn’t my intention to undermine the unity of the battalion. I’ll stay in line from now on.”

            “I’m not trying to get rid of you!” Appo quickly calmed his own voice, curling a fist in front of his chest as if to check himself. “Jesse… you deserve this promotion. If I knew Singer wasn’t going to recover, I’d make you a lieutenant right now. In fact…” Appo scratched his head. “I’m assigning you temporary command of Singer’s platoon while he’s injured. Think of it as a test run. You can make your decision after our next engagement.”

            Jesse hated the way his mind was looking between Appo’s words, afraid of something left unsaid. “Aren’t you worried this will send the wrong message to the other men, sir?”

            “No. Singer was one of the few officers who worked under Rex and has managed to use that influence to hold the battalion _together_. The men trust him. And… they trust you, too. You have influence, Jesse, especially as a senior member who knew Rex well. I’m just trying to make sure you can serve the Republic freely. Maybe it’d be easier as an ARC trooper.”

            “I’m not….” Jesse began, telling himself to stop arguing and yet pushing ahead. “Sir… I don’t have any command training, or….”

            “I was just a sergeant,” Appo said firmly. He laid a hand on his own chest. “We become what we have to be, when duty calls. _That’s_ what makes this battalion great. Isn’t that what’s been proven _every_ time we’ve faced a hard battle?”

            Jesse thought of Umbara, and wondered if Appo was thinking of that at all. “Yes, sir,” he said wearily. “But I… I haven’t exactly been a model trooper lately. Promoting me because I was close to Captain Rex—”

            “That’s not the only reason.” Appo’s face constricted into a deep grimace. Jesse could hear it in his voice and see it even in the dark. It was the most honest expression Appo had worn in weeks. “Jesse, you….  Doesn’t the fact that you’re being considered for ARC trooper tell you that? I’m just—!” Appo’s shoulders pulled down, his voice forcibly smoothed. “I’m asking you to make a decision, trooper. If you want to stay…I won’t force you to accept. The Republic could use you either way. We lost more troopers than I care to count on this campaign.”

            Jesse thought of Fives, the stories he’d told of working with other battalions, going on special ops missions, the challenge and thrill of working with soldiers who were constantly honing their skills to new situations and new gear. A deep pang of longing made his ribs ache.

            He thought of Fives’ letters, of Tup’s condition, and especially of Kix, and he glanced over his shoulder; no sign of anyone else anywhere nearby. The only sound was a peripheral hum of speech and footsteps and the occasional hollow gust of wind between the unmoving walkers.

            “Who found Singer?” Jesse asked.

            “Kix called it in,” Appo murmured.

            Jesse let out a low breath. “I’ll take temporary command of Singer’s platoon, sir.”

            Appo nodded sharply—his posture seemed to relax. “I’ll contact you with the new platoon configuration as soon as the casualty report’s updated.”

            Jesse wasn’t sure if he was dismissed. “I’ll do my best.”

            “I know you will.” Appo gripped his shoulder, but his face was turned down, and Jesse felt the ache in his ribs deepen as he saw the silhouette of Appo’s chest rise and fall. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull away or not. But then Appo turned quickly and walked off.

            Jesse stood for a moment, unsure of where to go. “Kix… this is Jesse,” he tried over the comm, but there was no answer. Jesse smelled the desert night and reminded himself that it was late. Kix had gone to get water, the medic had said. Jesse knew he needed water too, so he headed for walker nine. He left his helmet tucked under his arm. Maybe Kix would spot him first.

            A few troopers passed him as he approached the laughing crowds of brothers hydrating up, daring each other to see who could guzzle faster.

            “Hey, Jesse!” someone called and waved. The crowd reshuffled and other brothers lifted hands as well. When Jesse got a little closer he saw who it was.

            “Patch,” he said. “Have you seen Kix anywhere?”

            “Oh, the medic, right? Which one is he?”

            Jesse put a hand slowly to his forehead and sighed. “The one with—”

            “Aw, don’t get mad at the rookie, it’s harder now that we all look the same.” Rabbit limped over, clutching a water pack.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Rabbit, Jacky told you to _stay off_ the leg!” someone yelled from the left.

            “I’m gonna tell him!” someone else threatened with audible delight. “He’s gonna knock you out!”

            “Fine!” Rabbit grunted indignantly and sat down on the spot with a repressed groan, loudly sucking water from the pack.

            “Kix is over that way, Jesse,” said a brother as he pressed a couple water packs into Jesse’s hands.

            “Thanks.” Jesse didn’t stay to try to figure out who had spoken. He followed the trooper’s pointing toward a patch of uneven color in the blue and brown night. As he walked, he tried to drink. The water kept threatening to go down his windpipe instead, but he managed to finish half of it before finally putting his helmet on and switching to night vision. Part of the blob ahead was definitely a soldier leaning against some crates. All around him the wounded were arranged in rows.

            Kix was slumped with his head on his chest, knees drawn loosely toward him, one arm propped on his pack, the other draped across his stomach and curled in a fist around a detached communicator. His unfinished water leaned against his leg.

            Jesse sat down in the narrow space of open ground next to where Kix’s helmet rested, and set his own beside it.

            “Kix,” he said softly. Normally, that was all it took to wake him.

            “Kix,” he said again, and touched his shoulder. With his nearer arm bound up, it was a stiff, awkward movement.

            Kix jumped. “Yes s—what—?”

            “It’s Jesse.”

            “Jesse,” Kix sighed with relief.

            Guilt held him back for a moment before the hollow wind made him feel too alone.

            “I just talked to Commander Appo.”

            “Oh….” Kix sounded bleary. Jesse couldn’t make out the expression on his face, but he thought Kix was looking at him.

            It took him a few seconds to say it. “I heard… about Singer. Do you think he’ll recover?”

            “I’m not sure,” Kix said, and placed his hand gently on the bare chest of the trooper lying next to him. Jesse shifted.

            “Is that him?”

            Kix nodded. “He hasn’t said a word since I brought him back. I’m not sure if he has brain damage or if he’s just too deep in shock. He’s got internal bleeding from a punctured kidney… I’m trying to monitor his blood pressure and fluids to make sure….”

           That hollow breeze had gotten into Jesse’s chest somehow. “We must have gotten separated,” Jesse mumbled. “During the last push. I thought he was right there with me the whole time… and then I started pulling in the wounded and… I didn’t think to check where he was… I thought he was doing the same thing.”

            Kix didn’t say anything. Jesse breathed out carefully, and shoved their helmets roughly aside so he could sit closer to both of them and hear Singer breathing too.

            “Sorry,” Kix mumbled as Jesse shifted next to him. He put a hand to his own head.

            “What for?” Jesse folded his arms as tightly as he comfortably could in armor, and with his shoulder bound—not much. He wasn’t actually cold, he realized. He shivered a little anyway.

            “I’m listening,” Kix said. “I just… I’m…dizzy.”

            “Dehydrated?”

            Kix didn’t say anything. Jesse waited, until Kix’s head lolled sideways.

            “Kix!” Jesse nudged him. “What’s wrong?”

            Kix grunted softly and lifted his head. “No. I have to stay awake….”

            Jesse sat up a little straighter. “Did you take something?”

            “Nn.” Kix rubbed at his forehead. “I don’t think so… no sedatives, but… drowsiness isn’t supposed to be this severe….”

            “From what?”

            Kix pulled his knees closer and shifted to prop his elbows on them, his head in his hands. He sighed deeply.

            “Kix…” Jesse’s heart sank. He wanted to say something about Singer, about what Appo had said, but Kix was tired. He put a hand on Kix’s back, and all he could feel was the square edges of his armor. “I guess I’m Singer’s replacement, now.”

            “What?”

            “Appo just temporarily promoted me to lieutenant.” Jesse thought about telling Kix why he wanted to stay. But instead he forced a soft laugh and said, “He said he wants to make me an ARC trooper.”

            “ARC trooper?” Kix took a long breath, let it out. He rapped his fingertips weakly on Jesse’s leg plate. “That was a long time coming.”

            “I won’t do it if Singer recovers,” Jesse mumbled.

            “Why not?”

            Jesse swallowed again. Kix’s hand stayed resting just above his knee, and he felt Kix’s body shift beside him and knew he was drifting off.

            He sighed and put his free hand lightly over Kix’s, not sure what to do. Kix jerked.

            “Shouldn’t have taken that,” Kix half-whispered. “I’m fine.”

            “Kix. Taken what?” Jesse realized too late that his voice sounded pleading.

            “Are you okay?” Kix’s voice came clearer suddenly as he raised his head. “Jesse?”

            “I’ll be… fine.” Jesse took a deep breath. “I’m….” He waited for words to come, but they wouldn’t. He could hear the others talking, the uneven loud-quiet-loud of after-battle conversation, cheers followed by dismayed voices and silences broken by sudden murmurs and reluctant laughter. Relief and adrenaline and loss and exhaustion all together. That was the sound of it, and he tried to find comfort in that. But Appo’s words stuck in his mind like something important he’d forgotten to do.

            Kix’s breath hitched. A frustrated noise. “It’s never done this before.”

            “What’s never done this before?” Jesse asked worriedly.

            “The antiemetic. I took some before the battle and I took another dose when… but it should have been out of my system by then… I’ve never been this tired from it before….”

            “It makes you drowsy?” Jesse grimaced. “Kix… on the battlefield?”

            “It’s not that bad,” Kix said faintly. “Most of the time.”

            Jesse twisted and took Kix’s head with his good hand, pulling him down toward his lap.

            “Jesse—!”

            “You need some real sleep.”

            “I can’t, I have to—” Kix pulled away and Jesse let him go. “I have to stay alert.”

            “I’ll wake you up if there’s an emergency. I’ll take care of it.” Jesse focused on the stubborn feeling rising in him and hoped that would be enough to teach him how to be what he had to be. He shoved a water pack at Kix. “Come on, Kix. It’s like you’re always saying. You’re no good to anyone if you don’t give yourself time to recover.”

            “Jesse, I’m not wounded,” Kix laughed, but he took a water.

            Jesse swallowed hard and forced a positive note as he pulled Kix’s arm over his shoulders. “Maybe not, but… doesn’t mean you don’t need someone to watch over you too. Especially if that medicine is doing this. Just… pretend I took you home from Seventy-Nines. Like old times.”

            “I think you’ve got this backwards.” Kix didn’t pull his arm away. “ _I’ve_ always had to take _you_ home from Seventy-Nines. Sometimes Hardcase too.”

            “Hardcase took us both back once, remember that?” Jesse said it in a rush, and clamped his mouth shut.

            “Oh yeah…” Kix laughed again, under his breath this time. “I think half the time he seemed drunk, he was just playing it up to make the rest of us laugh.”

            “Yeah,” Jesse wanted to say, but he didn’t trust himself to open his mouth. Instead, he focused on the solid feeling of Kix’s arm on his shoulders and the sound of Singer’s shallow, open-mouthed breathing in front of them.

            Kix slumped against him after a moment, head falling gently against his, and Jesse felt his limp weight, his chest moving, and wondered whether to wake him. But soon enough Kix jerked awake on his own with a frustrated noise.

            “It’s okay,” Jesse said quietly. “Just tell me what to do and sleep it off.”

            “There’s another… IV…” Kix twisted and pulled it out of his medpack, along with a few hypos. “Put half of each of these in when you refill it. Or just wake me up when it starts to get low. Or when the evacuation team gets here. Keep an eye on his blood pressure. If it… or his pulse or breathing changes much….”

            “I’ll wake you up,” Jesse promised, and removed his leg plates so Kix could rest his head in his lap. They settled into place, Jesse with his blaster in easy reach. The band of stars he could see through the open hangar doors was dense but hazy. Jesse squinted for a long time before he was reassured it wasn’t just his eyes.

            “Did you finish your water?” he asked when the breeze on his neck made him shiver. He looked down.

            Kix breaths were even and shallow, his hands folded on his chest. The communicator was gone, probably in a belt pouch. Jesse wondered if Kix had taken it off Singer, then remembered that Appo had answered the comm. He shivered again and, like when they were small, wanted to reach out and feel Kix’s heartbeat, but the armor was there in the way.

            He let his hand rest on Kix’s chest anyway, and realized he could feel him breathing, just faintly on his fingers. Jesse blinked rapidly at the vague grey-on-black shape of his sleeping face in the darkness, and the ache in his ribs went up through his spine and shoulder, into his jaw.

            “Don’t worry,” Jesse whispered to himself.

            Kix kept breathing, and Singer too, and Jesse laid a hand gently on Singer’s chest as well. He stayed awake, breathing with them and trying to imagine the end of the war.

…

            The data pad was too light in his hands. On the screen, it was all numbers, but looking at it, Cody saw nothing but names. Cratt. Dev. Sati. Keen. Bok. Viper. Whim. Acher. Herbie. Fidget. Sheek. Gil.

            “Judging by your expression, I think you might be reading the same thing I just had a look at.”

            General Kenobi’s voice made Cody’s head jerk up and he blinked a few times, remembering where he was. It was a rectangular, benched table outside of the port’s main terminal. Both moons were out now, so it was easy for a moment to read Kenobi’s face as he took a seat across from him, hands clasped loosely in front of his mouth.

            “Sir. Just trying to decide how to patch up the holes in our forces.”

            “Mm. I hear Captain Gil’s condition is serious.” The General’s voice was soft. “And I noticed the names of a few troopers who were with you on Coruscant as well. I suppose that couldn’t be entirely prevented….”

            Cody nodded and turned off the pad. “Cratt’s gone. Lan caught shrapnel and a cracked hip… Ghost got taken for surgery on his chest and his face is… half torn up.”

            “How’s Puzzler?”

            “The medics are trying to make sure he stays hydrated and gets some rest. He was in the walkers for three days, just couldn’t focus on the march.”

            “When I was talking to Tucker, Star was having his arm set in a cast and wouldn’t stop chatting about ration assignments,” Kenobi smiled sadly. “I’ll miss Viper’s spirit. He reminded me of… well.”

            He didn’t say any more for several minutes, and Cody listened to the night wind, startled at the way Kenobi named his brothers like they were his own. He picked up the pad and set it back down, confused by how unnatural the motion felt.

            “Captain Gil sent me a message,” Cody finally said, just as Kenobi began to speak.

            “I’ve noticed a set of troopers waiting to be—oh?”

            “Waiting to be what, sir?”

            “Waiting to be shipped to Kamino. What was Captain Gil’s message?”

            “His crush wounds are more severe than we thought. He’s not expected to recover. Not enough to be battle worthy. He wanted to apologize to me and say goodbye. He also gave me a date for when he’s to be euthanized.”

            “Euthanized?” Kenobi’s leaned forward, his voice going hushed. “You’re saying his wounds aren’t treatable at all? I find that hard to believe.”

            “The damaged organs would need transplants and a long recovery time… he might need prosthetic limbs.” Cody shook his head. “I don’t know the specifics, but recovery would be costly. And painful.”

            Kenobi’s whisper was distressed. “But he’s your captain.”

            Cody hesitated. “None of us expect the Republic to focus on one of us to the detriment of the war effort. We can’t endanger our brothers by demanding—”

            “I don’t think I’ve heard any of you _demand_ anything,” Kenobi said, one hand curling into a fist near his mouth. “Ever.”

            “Sir… those men who are to be sent to Kamino... I’m sure you know _specialized medical treatment_ probably means something completely different. But they might not know that.” Cody stopped, not sure what he meant to say. Would telling them be a cruelty or a kindness? His elbows rested on the table, hands cupped loosely inside one another.

            “Oh, I’m afraid their departure will have to be delayed,” Kenobi said slyly. “You see, we simply cannot get any medical ships through the naval battle. They’ll have to be treated on our star destroyers for as long as we’re holding the siege in place.”

            Cody felt his forehead creasing. “And then?”

            “I’ll have to come up with some other excuse. Or refuse to send them.”

            “Is that right, sir?” Cody felt that sudden pain in his stomach and wondered distantly if he should have West check him again. “From a practical point of view, letting those men go could free up resources for the men who can still fight.”

            The general folded his arms and stared at him for a long moment.  With his back to the moons, his face was only half-lit, and Cody couldn’t quite make out his expression. But when he spoke, his voice was heavy. “I suppose we should give them the choice. But surely you would prefer that they live?”

            “I don’t know, sir,” Cody murmured.

            Obi-Wan leaned forward suddenly across the table, head tilted. “You don’t know? You must feel something about this. I imagine you feel quite strongly, at least about the last few days, working so closely with Commander Appo.”

             “I… don’t feel much of anything right now, sir,” Cody said honestly. “Except… maybe a little confused about why that is.” He rubbed his cupped hands together and tried to convince himself they were part of his body.

            “You mean about Captain Gil and the other men? It’s only natural that you feel differently about their loss than about Captain Rex. He was your closest friend.”

            A faint twinge of pain in his stomach again. Cody heard himself mumbling. “It’s not fair to the rest of my brothers. It’s not natural—we’re meant to expect the loss. It’s what we were made to weather. We all want to live… to keep fighting. None of us should give special treatment to our favorites. Gil is an excellent captain….”

            “Cody….” Kenobi’s voice took on an urgent tone. “I think you need more rest. You look like a ghost.”

            “Feel like one too,” Cody said. It didn’t come out as funny as he’d hoped. “It’s just the moonlight, sir. It makes everything a little unreal.”

            “Well… you don’t seem to be in much pain,” Kenobi admitted reluctantly. “Maybe it’s just exhaustion.”

            Cody nodded numbly, but couldn’t seem to move. Long seconds passed where Kenobi didn’t move either, until he almost seemed like a statue or a hologram. Even the intermittent pressure of the wind on Cody’s neck and cheeks felt surreal, one shade below lukewarm.

            “I’ve sent so many men back to Kamino.” Words finally came out of the fog in Cody’s mind, toneless. “Even though I know what that means now… suffering unrecoverable wounds, sacrifice is expected. I wonder if Rex died like this… if I would be alright with that. If it was just a matter of being unrecoverable.”

            The white-and-grey form of the general swayed and exhaled suddenly.  “We _will_ save Gil somehow.”

            “If that’s what you think is right, sir,” Cody said.

            “I won’t let….” Kenobi cleared his throat, made a hesitant noise. “Never mind. That’s not the point, is it? Maybe it is harder because of the confusion and blame surrounding Rex’s death. I would certainly find it more difficult to lose Anakin to some apparent betrayal where his loyalty was in question than a simple blaster shot to the heart. But as I said, I think the real betrayal here is the way high command… sees you and your brothers.”

            Cody finally felt something then, a warm flush of confusion from his head down into his arms and stomach, and he wanted to lay his head down on his hands. But he just stared at them, marveling at how helplessly sad and exhausted he felt. He imagined himself crying out like a wounded man, and sat still, trying not to blink—he could feel the corners of his eyes getting damp and cold.

            _It’s how we’re made. It’s how we’re made. Say it._ Cody waited for his body to obey the command. “We’re soldiers,” he finally managed. “We’re clones.”

            “Yes,” Kenobi said softly. “You are… the most selfless and courageous humans I’ve ever known. It’s been a long battle. It has been a _long_ war. You deserve more than to be treated like tools.”

            _Serving something greater than ourselves is what really makes our lives valuable._ Cody couldn’t say it. Not because it wasn’t true. He swallowed. _Isn’t that true for the Jedi, sir?_ His mind carried on the conversation his voice couldn’t. _Of course,_ Kenobi said. _But…._

            “You’re exhausted.” Kenobi’s hand was on his shoulder; he felt startled, but his body didn’t move. Kenobi was next to him, behind him now, taking him by both shoulders. “The restructuring can wait until morning.”

            “Yes, sir,” Cody said, and finally his body moved. He pushed himself up from the table. His legs worked, he kept his balance. Of course he did. He had been just fine all day, all week. _Battle fatigue can hit you all at once_ , his mind said. _It’s because you were sitting still for too long._ But when he found himself lying down among his brothers, he didn’t fall asleep for a long time, just staring up at the stars, lost in his own armor.

 


	29. Chapter 29

            It was late in the day, and the low, relentless sun was baking Rex alive.

            “Look,” he said to the tall, graceful Falleen who was staring down at him with an expression of serene self-importance. “I’ve got better things to do than try to force this shipment on you. Either you pay and you get what we’re delivering, or you don’t pay and we sell it to someone else.”

            “You humans lose your patience so easily.” She sighed, her scaly green skin perfectly smooth and free of sweat—did Falleen even sweat? Rex felt like he was being boiled in saltwater.

            His eyes drifted longingly for a moment toward the nearest shade. There was plenty of it in the alley below this flat rooftop. “If you chose to meet outside in full sun at this time of day, thinking it would be an advantage for you, maybe you should have realized that humans _and_ tactical droids can be dangerous when annoyed.”

            She smiled, just a little, still in that haughty way. He could only just make it out, squinting against the light as he was. Her white tail of hair was blinding. “Yet so far you haven’t threatened to kill me if I don’t take your incorrect shipment.”

            “It’s not our fault you gave poor instructions,” Rex growled. “Now make a decision.”

            “There’s no need to be so discourteous! My instructions were perfectly clear. I wanted an original bordok, not a lesser bordok. The dealer was obviously counting on the fact that you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference in a young one.”

            Rex stayed silent, hoping she’d take it as a concession and move on to business, but she just kept looking between him and the droid at the shaggy hoofed creature that stood behind them, its head down, its eyes mostly shut against the sun. Rex was honestly shocked the droid had managed to transport a baby animal all the way from the Moddell sector without killing it. But the little thing, only coming up to his knees, seemed hardier than it looked at first glance, and was surprisingly agile on its split hooves—it had followed them up the steps to the rooftop with ease.

            “Ma’am,” Rex finally said, trying to sound as polite as possible. “I meant no offense, but we _are_ on a schedule. Surely… you would be kind enough to give us an answer quickly, so we won’t be late to our next appointment.”

            TL-89 looked at him and Rex hoped the droid would keep its mouth shut, so to speak.

            “Very good. Very good,” she said mildly, moving fearlessly to kneel beside the animal. . “I will take it for half price.” She scratched the bordok behind the nubs where its horns would grow, and it butted its head against her arm.

            “We can’t sell it for that,” Rex sighed.

            “What will you do with her if I refuse full payment?” she asked, and Rex could see her small frown more clearly now that she was the one facing the sun.

            “We will sell it,” said TL-89. “To whoever will match your original price. There are some species which find young bordok meat highly desirable. It is possible we could acquire twice your initial offer of credits.”

            “Barbarians. I realize you’re taking advantage of my higher morals, but I suppose that’s simply your nature. Alright. I will pay your price, for the child’s sake.”

            Rex blinked, bewildered that she could switch from indifference toward the bordok to calling it a child, as if it were fully sentient. Well, as long as she paid and the droid didn’t end up killing another helpless life form, it was a relatively good transaction.

            “Done.”

            She counted out the credits where Rex could see, and put them in a bag before handing it to him. Then, TL-89 handed over the lead rope.

            “One more thing,” Rex said, more out of habit than hope, as she took the rope from him “Have you ever heard of a scientist named Anzerra?”

            “Anzerra?” She tilted her head. “I’m afraid not. What organization is he affiliated with?”

            “He used to work for the confederacy, but is now an independent.”

            “Hmm. Well, I don’t know him, and I’m glad of it, if he is some kind of traitor. Why are you looking for him?”

            “That’s my own business,” Rex said, tense. That’s right. The Falleen were allied to the separatists. “Thanks anyway.”

            She dipped her head toward him and gently coaxed the little bordok down the ladder. Rex forced himself to wait a few seconds before following her down into the relief of the alley’s shade. The sun was already half gone, but it would take the rooftops a while to cool off. He was dizzier than usual.

            “This concludes my business on Llanic,” said the droid, when she was out of sight. “We have already been here several days longer than I planned.”

            “Wait!” Rex said, wiping sweat off his upper lip. “You have to give me one more try at finding Anzerra. Just… twelve more hours, and then we can leave. I only need one good lead.”

            “Out of the eight leads you have found this week, exactly eight of them have proven to be useless. As were the ones you found last week. It is not helpful to know that Anzerra was once a pupil of Jidde Palsuth, if his professor is on the other side of the galaxy and would not know his current whereabouts if we asked her. It is not helpful to know that Anzerra buys plants and chemicals from an Ithorian who does not ever ask for his address or any way of tracking his funds. We also wasted two full days and an unacceptable amount of credits trying to locate a secret society of scientists that in fact does not exist.”

            “It was the most promising lead we’d gotten so far,” Rex sighed, folding his arms.

            “It was the unsubstantiated story of a drunken Nautolan.”

            “What else was I supposed to do? Just ignore it? And I _did_ find the names of some other scientists we can look for offworld, remember? Grimalba, Walten, Pachask? It wasn’t a complete waste of time.”

            Rex started to walk away and the droid grabbed his arm.

            “What?” Rex grunted.

            “I have been observing minute fluctuations in your behavior. You are exhibiting warning signs of illness.”

            “I thought you weren’t a medical droid?” Rex said dully.

            “I have been researching various psychological illnesses, in order to better care for you.”

            Rex stared flatly up at the droid. “I don’t need you to _care_ for me. I don’t think a tactical droid is even capable of caring.”

            “You may be interested to learn that many texts on the keeping of slaves and animals recommend breaking the will of the creature by inducing intense fear and pain. However, they also claim that the better a slave or pet is cared for, the greater its loyalty to its master will be. If I care for you better than the Republic has, you will have no choice but to be loyal to me.” The droid pulled a water pack out of its chest pouch and offered it.

            “It’s not gonna happen, droid.” Rex took the pack and tore it open, remembering the whips and javelins of the slavers on Kadavo. “I’ve told you before. You could give me everything I ever wanted and I still wouldn’t be loyal to you.”

            “I predict otherwise.” TL-89’s head and hand moved occasionally, gesturing, as it spoke. Rex knew the pattern by now. Droids were so predictable. “What is everything you ever wanted?”

            Rex sighed heavily. “Right now, everything I ever wanted is to disable the chips.”

            “You have indicated in brief conversations with other organic beings that you also wish to return to Republic space, without naming it as such. Why?”

            “Because it’s where I belong,” Rex said slowly and loudly, as if the droid had an old audio processor. “It’s where everyone I know is.”

            “You require the presence of other organic beings.” The droid nodded its flat head once. “Perhaps I will acquire one for you. Then you will give up this fruitless search.”

            “What?” Rex stared. “Acquire one what?”

            “An organic companion. Do you require a mate, or will you be satisfied with a non-sentient creature?”

            “A mate?” Rex would have laughed if he weren’t so numb with heat exhaustion. He passed a hand over his forehead. “You just don’t get it, do you? I don’t need a _mate_ …. I just….” He sighed again, softer this time, and paused to suck out the last drops of water. “I just want to see my brothers again. But I can’t… not until I stop this.”

            “You claim that is the entire cause of your symptoms?” the droid asked.

            Rex stared down the street, resenting the grip on his arm. “Just… leave me alone, droid. If there’s something wrong with my brain… leave it to a _scientist_ to figure out.”

            “You should thank me for being concerned with your well-being, human.” TL-89 shoved some ration cubes under his nose.

            “Thanks,” Rex said hollowly, sweeping the cubes into his right hand with his left.

            “You will choose one more establishment.” TL-89 pulled him roughly toward itself and Rex silently stood his ground. “You may question the beings inside for one hour. If there is not a substantial lead at the end of that hour, we are leaving. No more negotiations. We will find a suitable scientist on a different planet. But I will not go out of my way.”

            “Fine,” Rex sighed. “Where _are_ we going next?”

            The droid released him. “Choose an establishment.”

            Rex gave up and walked away to the mouth of the alley, flexing his shoulder. It was, in some ways, getting easier to think through the over-stimulation or whatever it was. It never went away exactly… but at times he could almost forget it was there, like the smell of Llanic’s gutters.

            He would need to pick somewhere with a large number of people. That would increase the odds of someone in the crowd knowing who Anzerra was. The street sloped down on either side, dramatically to the left, gradually to the right. He went right, toward the awakening lights of the casinos and swoop racing tracks. Hundreds of people entered either type of establishment every day; he’d noticed that much from wandering through several of Llanic’s major cities over the past week. All he had to do was mention Anzerra’s name to as many people as possible and hope that someone recognized it.

            He’d already done that once or twice, while chasing other leads. Maybe this time would be different, but his hopes weren’t high.

            Rex headed down the street, passing hotels and restaurants and an enormous mural featuring abstract figures of heavily painted contortionists. Rex couldn’t even tell which parts of the humanoids were costume and which were biological. At the other end of the mural was a lighted sign proclaiming the building as the Triple Cresh Cantina, accompanied by a jubilant recorded voice listing tonight’s performers, and the typical raucous hubbub of voices mixed with music.

            On the opposite side of the street, a rosy light came from large circular windows, and well-groomed sentients were welcomed inside by a tall, tan, nearly gold twi’lek. The restaurant was like a tiny focal point in a magnifying glass, the only spot where everything was perfectly clear, and he could see—

             A metal hand tapped his back. Rex blinked, face heating as he realized what had just happened. Another daze.

            “If you take an hour to decide on an establishment, I will only allow you to search for an additional twenty minutes.”

            “Understood,” Rex muttered, and stepped away from the restaurant, toward the cantina. But after five steps he stopped and turned back to look at the restaurant. Maybe he was more likely to run into people Anzerra knew in a place like that.

            Maybe he just wanted a more peaceful atmosphere. Rex turned away. It was the safer bet to go to the casino. More people, more chances. His gut feeling was nothing more than weakness, now that his sense of reality was so unreliable.

            He looked toward the casino, but didn’t take more than half a step. “Droid….”

            “Yes, human.”

            “Was Anzerra… respectable, before he lost his endorsement? Anomids are usually quiet, gentle, right? Because they’re pacifists?”

            “I am not familiar with the stereotypes applied to the Anomid species.”

            “Would he be the type to gamble with hardened criminals?” Rex murmured to himself, trying to focus himself with the sound of his own voice. “If he lives on Llanic, he must not be too put off by the atmosphere… but when a place like _that_ exists….” He gestured toward the restaurant with the rosy light. _Hallamsy Gardens_ , the sign read, but he could see the outlines inside of people seated at tables, sipping from glasses, waving utensils gently between words. “Maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong places all along.”

            “That may be an exclusive club,” TL-89 said. “I do not predict they will cooperate with you.”

            “I’m mostly presentable,” Rex said, looking down at himself. He might smell a bit sweaty, but everyone on Llanic did, right? “If they don’t let me in, we’ll try someplace else. This place won’t count. Deal?”

            “Acceptable,” the droid said. Once again, credits changed hands.

            With a deep breath, Rex raised his head and approached the door, keenly aware the closer he came that there was a marked difference between him and the beings entering the building. He tried to hold himself with confidence, but not too soldier-like… he’d never had to make that distinction before, and it was nearly impossible. No deference… but no wariness either. He gave up and simply tried to visually copy the gait and posture of the people in front of him, without thinking too hard.

            The Twi’lek at the door smiled with bright eyes as he approached. “Good evening,” she said in a voice oddly childlike for her tall and handsomely suited appearance. He guessed she was older than him before catching himself—every adult was technically older than him. But something about the way she carried herself suggested the confidence of experience. “Do you have a reservation?”

            “I’m supposed to meet a Doctor Anzerra here,” Rex said, hands in his pockets. “I think this is the right place.”

            “Doctor Anzerra….” She looked at the list on her pad, brow furrowing. “I don’t see his name on here, but… if you would be willing to wait just a moment, I can see if we have any record of him calling.”

            “Oh… uh, would you? I’d appreciate that.”

            “Of course! Just one moment.”

            She stepped to the door and pressed a comm. “Nyla, could you come to the front entrance please?” She turned back toward Rex. “If you wait by the door, I’ll be back in just a few minutes, and Nyla can greet the other customers while you wait.”

            “Thank you,” Rex said, and stepped out of the path to the door. His left hand trembled slightly in his pocket, wrapped around the chip as if his life depended on it. Well, not his life anymore. But his brothers’ lives. He tried to remind himself of that even while carefully adjusting his posture to match the casual gallantry of the other customers. He smiled and nodded when they met his eyes.

            At least, that was his intention. But the sounds of laughter and chatter and the rustling of chairs and the clatter of plates and forks made the mess hall on Coruscant appear before his eyes, and there was the 212th and the City Guard milling around the tables… if he listened he could almost hear their voices in between the words of the customers around him.

            “I can never eat a full plate when I’ve been on field rations for weeks.”

            “Lucky you never have to worry about that.”

            “My boss says we’ll be getting a bonus after the new year but I don’t—”

            “And one of his students was so heartbroken, she’s been making trouble for the university—”

            “Sir?”

            “Ah, I fixed up my place with some of that stuff you got me, real nice.”

            “Do you want a bite of this?”

            “Sir? I’m sorry for the wait.”

            “Oh,” Rex said, jumping a little as the Twi’lek appeared in front of him again. He blinked and hoped he looked sane and sober. His palms went clammy. “No…it’s no problem. Did you find anything?”

            “I’m sorry,” she said, with a surprisingly dramatic grimace. “There’s no evidence he ever called. We don’t even have a guest record on file for him. Are you sure this is the place he wanted to meet you?”

            “Yes. Actually….” Rex glanced through the nearest window. “I think I see a mutual acquaintance inside. Would it be possible for me to speak with him, just for a moment?”

            “Oh… umm….”

            “You can escort me in and out if you like,” Rex offered. “I just want to check if they know him, and maybe they can contact him for me. This meeting is very important.”

            “Well, alright,” she said. “Right this way.” She waved at Nyla, and led him through the door. At her questioning look, he headed for one of the tables near the window. The one closest held a mixed group of humans and Muun, who turned their attention immediately to the Twi’lek when she approached.

            “Excuse me,” she said, “but our guest here is looking for a Doctor Anzerra.”

            “He’s a scientist,” Rex said, pinned in place by the eyes of every member of the party. “He was a student of Jidde Palsuth, and a former separatist.”

            “Who’s this?” one of the Muun asked.

            “He said someone here might be a mutual acquaintance,” the twi’lek said.

            A bejeweled woman at the table laughed. “Never seen him before, or heard of anyone named Anzerra.”

            “My mistake,” Rex said quietly. “I thought I recognized someone.” He turned back toward the door in defeat. He hoped the helpful Twi’lek didn’t get in trouble for letting him inside.

            “Anzerra? Charist Anzerra?” A voice rose roaring from a table near the bar. “Who’s asking about that one?”

            Rex turned his head, and his eyes settled on the noticeable horns of a Zabrak who was beckoning him over aggressively.

            “Come here! Come here. Anzerra stood you up? He’s slippery, he’s a clever man. What do you want him for?”

            “Don’t worry, she’s a regular,” the Twi’lek sighed with an indulgent smile at Rex and put an encouraging hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get closer so she doesn’t feel the need to shout over the other customers.”

            Rex walked forward, and the Zabrak looked him up and down and laughed, clutching a mug of something. She was sturdily built and clothed simply for travel or battle; at first glance, Rex would have taken her for a male, but he had never knowingly met a female zabrak before, and didn’t know how much they normally differed.

            “You know Anzerra?” he asked her quietly.

            “What,” she proclaimed, grinning. “You think a Zabrak and an Anomid would never have a reason to talk to each other? I know what you’re thinking. I see it in your eyes.”

            “I don’t know much about it, to be perfectly honest,” Rex said. “I just want to know where to find him since he isn't here as promised.”

            “He probably owes you money, doesn’t he?” she chuckled. Her voice was strong and throaty. “I get all over the galaxy, I go everywhere and I talk to everyone. He’s not like most Anomids, that one. For _one_ thing, he’ll talk to a Zabrak!”

            “Does he live on Llanic?” Rex asked with forced patience. The Twi’lek was smiling sheepishly next to him. “Do you know how to contact him?”

            “Contact him! Oh. I can do better than that. I think he still lives in the Thend district, not far from here, in that _strange_ house full of aquariums…terrariums. Eight thousand Dittereg Crossway, something like that. It doesn’t even look like a house, it has this symbol on it… here, let me show you.” She grabbed a bottle of sauce off the corner of the table and squirted it out onto a wafer. After a few moments she had smeared it around into a roughly circular symbol, and Rex took it when she offered him a closer look.

            “Eight thousand Dittereg Crossway, Thend district?” he repeated, trying not to get his hopes up. Maybe this drunken lead would be more reliable than the last one.

            “ _Yes_ ,” the Zabrak proclaimed, with a relatively gentle fist-pound on the table. “Yes, that is it. That is his address. Tell him I want that trip to Iridonia he promised me.”

            “Would you like a map?” the Twi’lek offered in an undertone, glancing at the nearby stairs, where some of the other staff had paused to watch the exchange.

            “Yes, thank you,” Rex murmured back, then raised his voice a tiny bit and nodded toward the Zabrak. “Thank you. I’ll pass on your message.”

            She laughed and beckoned at him with both arms, as if wanting to embrace him. Rex took a step back toward the door.

            “Oh, don’t be a coward!” she sneered playfully. “I don’t bite.” She bared her teeth and laughed again, waving a dismissive hand. “Alright, alright, go on, Selis, I will stop causing problems for you.”

            “Thanks,” the Twi’lek teased, and guided Rex back toward the door. When they were outside, Rex sighed.

            “Sorry… I didn’t mean to cause a disturbance.”

            “She’s just loud.” Selis smiled, reaching into her suit pocket and fishing out a cheap holoprojector. “We’re used to it. Here, I can pull up the map and you can copy it.”

            “I’ll remember it,” Rex said simply, before realizing maybe not everyone could do that.

            “Okay.” She pulled up the map and zoomed in to point out a bright dot. “We’re here. The Thend district is here.” She pointed at another point, what looked to be about three klicks north-northeast, judging by the guidelines on the grid. It read a bit differently than the standard issue Rex was used to.  “If I remember right, Dittereg Crossway is… I think it’s this street here, but if it’s not, it’ll be close by.”

            “Got it.” He looked up from the map. “Thank you.”

            “You’re welcome,” she smiled. “Just doing my job.”

            Rex turned and hurried away from the warm light and mellow voices, back toward the dark shape of the tactical droid against the cantina’s garish lights.

            “I got it!” he said as he approached, holding up the wafer the zabrak had fingerpainted on. “I have his address, or close to it, anyway.”

            TL-89 barely moved, and tension rushed over Rex’s nerves at its hulking shape in the darkness, conditioned deeply into his subconscious as a danger sign. “How far is it?” the droid asked.

            “Not far,” Rex said. “About three klicks that way. We can walk it in thirty minutes.”

            “And if we do not find him right away, we are abandoning the search.”

            “Yes. On Llanic,” Rex said, already walking briskly away from the Triple Cresh. “We’ll stop looking for a scientist on Llanic and move on if we don’t find him. But I have to try.”

            The droid’s footsteps were audible behind him. They passed a line of hotels painted in bright primary colors and entered a network of alleys with uneven stairs on the other side. The streets were more consistent here in their spacing than most other places they’d been, and some even had numbers marked on the cracked-and-filled permacrete.

            As they walked down a pitch-dark alley, snatches of alien languages and a shrill, indistinct hum floated through the gaps between the buildings. Rex shivered as he felt his mind sliding again in the dark, imagining figures where his eyes saw nothing. He stayed close to the droid, nearly rubbing elbows, closer than he would have ever chosen if he had his own weapon. But he had nothing, and although he always kept an eye out for anything that he could use at a moment’s notice, in a town full of armed criminals he had already learned his best hope in any fight was the hunk of walking metal at his side.

            Underneath a rickety footbridge, through a short tunnel beneath another street, they walked and Rex struggled to find something to say to ward off the silence. Instead he repeated the address to himself silently.

            At long last they emerged onto a wide, nearly empty perpendicular street. Rex felt the irrational uneasiness growing, and it only got worse when he noticed two Zygerrians watching him, barely visible in the shadow of a shop front canopy.

            “There!” he said, pointing toward the widest building across the street, which appeared to be a light green color. It could have just been the tint of the cone of light on the wall, within which there was no recognizable text, just a deep green symbol like two jagged winged beasts circling a dot bisected by a thin diagonal line. The Zabrak’s illustration of it wasn’t exactly clear, but Rex was certain it was a match. He tossed the wafer onto the ground.

            TL-89 looked down at it but said nothing.

            “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” said Rex quietly as they approached. None of the visible windows were lighted.

            “He may not answer if he is,” said TL-89.

            Rex didn’t let himself hesitate. He walked up, pushed the button by the door, and waited. A warbling laugh pierced the night behind him and he jerked his head to look just as the door opened.

            A silver protocol droid stood in the doorway. “Please state your business,” it said briskly, looking back and forth between Rex and the E-5 in TL-89’s hands.

            “We… _I’m_ here to discuss a very rare piece of biotechnology with Doctor Anzerra. Does he live here?”

            Rex hoped that would at least intrigue him enough to come speak in person.

            “Name?”

            “Jek Novar,” Rex said.

            The droid shut the door. Rex stood still for a moment, not sure what to do. There was no visible switch to open the door from the outside. The laughter came again behind him, followed by shouting, but it faded into the engine hum of speeder bikes, distant enough that he didn’t turn to look. Just as he’d made up his mind to try the door again, it opened; the droid was back.

            “The tactical droid will have to wait outside,” it said. “You, however, are welcome to come in, Master Novar.”

            “I will know if you leave,” TL-89 said to Rex. “Do not take long.”

            “I’ll do my best,” Rex said, and stepped through the door, aware that he could be walking into anything.

           Inside, the door closed and the droid led him down a brightly-lit hallway lined with plants. More specifically, there were hydroponic tanks set into the floor on each side, with delicate vines hugging the trellises that stood out only an inch or so from the wall, floor to ceiling. There was a mildly fishy, algae-like smell, but otherwise the air felt much cleaner than outside.

            It was also much quieter. Rex could hear only the faintest trickling of water between their footsteps on the metal plated floor.

            The droid turned right at the first door they came to. It opened into a large sitting-room complete with couches and burgundy carpets and colored transparent end tables with flowering plants and sculptures on display. Paintings of architecture from around the galaxy hung on the walls. And a masked humanoid with pale violet-grey skin and a high ponytail of silver hair stepped through a door on the opposite end of the room.

            “Ah, Protee, you didn’t invite our guest to sit down!” The mask covering his mouth and nose modulated his voice into a bright, charismatic tone, and the Anomid’s six-fingered hands gestured articulately, possibly echoing his commands in sign language. “Bring us some refreshments. You are Jek Novar? Do you prefer to shake hands or do you have another custom of greeting?”

            “Oh… shaking hands is fine,” Rex said, holding his out. Again he nearly ended with “sir” and had to stop himself. “And you’re Doctor Anzerra.”

            “Yes.” Anzerra gripped his hand firmly but briefly, taking care not to catch his claws on Rex’s sleeve. He wore a sleeveless pastel blue tunic with a white knotted sash, and dark grey pants and boots, all crisp lines and perfectly clean. “Are you hungry? I can have Protee bring us a little something to eat. Have you ever had kanali wafers?”

            “Oh, no, I’m fine… thank you,” Rex said choppily, taking in the intricate interlocking designs on Anzerra’s mask, the long fin-like tips of his ears. Anzerra’s eyes looked human apart from the fact that they were solid yellow with no visible iris or pupil. He’d never seen an Anomid before. He tried to smile a little and put on a more relaxed air… to act like he belonged. He’d managed it well enough in the restaurant, but somehow, now that he was finally meeting the scientist he’d been hunting for two weeks, the possibility of failure was overwhelming. There could be no slip-ups now.

            “Ah, perhaps you don’t like sweets? Perhaps you will try some Vohan bean stew, I just had Protee make some this afternoon, it won’t take two seconds to heat up, and with a little pinch of vohis mold it’s quite delicious. You must allow me to play host, it’s an Anomid thing. Please, sit down, sit down. Or perhaps it’s more of a family thing….”

            Rex sat down on the edge of the nearest couch, watching as Anzerra opened a hatch on the wall and poured two glasses of some pinkish liquid.

            “Here, have some covado punch. It’s quite refreshing.”

            Rex took the offered glass and hesitated. Anzerra hadn’t shown any indication that he knew who Rex was, and had no reason to know. There was very little profit Rex could see in him drugging or poisoning a stranger before that stranger had shown any reluctance to divulge anything. The average human who hadn’t undergone military training would probably not hesitate. But then, this was mercenary country.

            By the time he had decided to take a risk in the name of hospitality, Anzerra had sat down across from him and was taking off his mask.

            “Please pardon me for a moment while I drink. Feel free to speak, I will respond to anything you say when my vocabulator is back in place.”

            _Yes, sir_. “Right… it’s no problem,” Rex said instead. He took a sip of his drink and found it nearly hurt his mouth with its sweet, crisp flavor after days of nothing but stale water, field rations, and the few bland meals on Llanic that the droid had allowed.

            Perhaps it was the mask, the long fingers and claws… maybe it reminded him of General Plo Koon. But otherwise they were nothing alike. Did most civilians say _sir_ when referring to respected scientists or other academic types? Rex had never thought to notice.

            Underneath the mask, Anzerra’s mouth and nose were hairless and looked human apart from their coloration. He breathed an audible sigh of contentment after a long sip of the juice. Rex also took another sip before clearing his throat.

            “Thank you, Doctor, this is… very good.” That was better… referring to him by title felt more natural.

            Anzerra set his drink aside and gestured rapidly with his hands before putting the mask back on. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Ah, there’s Protee with your food. You must take at least one taste, I insist. Take two. Then we can talk business. Have you come a long way?”

            “Yes,” Rex said, accepting the tray from the protocol droid. “A very long way.” The unfamiliarity of his own life struck him again and was nearly overwhelming for a second. He picked up the provided spoon, dipped it in the dark green stew and lifted it hesitantly to his mouth. It did smell good. It tasted even better.

            “I take it you are unaccustomed to galactic delicacies.” Anzerra laughed softly. “I would guess you are also under some stress about whether I will hear you out. It’s alright, Jek—can I call you Jek? Even if your biotech is completely boring, I’m curious about anyone who goes to the trouble of asking to see me.”

            Rex didn’t know what to say to that, so he ate another spoonful of the stew, his left hand tucked under the tray. There was a bluish sprinkling of some kind of powder that he realized must be the mold Anzerra had mentioned. It had a smoky taste. Well, Anzerra _seemed_ like the type who wouldn’t want to give his guests food poisoning, so it was probably fine.

            When Rex had swallowed the second mouthful, he set the bowl and tray aside, even though he wanted to keep eating. The warm stew was comforting in a way nothing else had been lately. But Anzerra was staring at him patiently, his posture upright but relaxed, hands folded gracefully in his lap.

            “Thank you. Alright,” Rex said at last, slipping his left hand inside his pocket again. “I came here, Doctor, because I heard you aren’t affiliated with either side of the war. Is that true?”

            “Technically correct,” said Anzerra. “I was working for the greatest science academy on Raxus before my unfortunate disagreement with the law. Now I find it’s usually easier to fund my projects myself, rather than relying on the goodwill of governments who are more concerned with building weapons than advancing true science. This war has diverted our purpose as scientific professionals.”

            Rex took a deep breath, trying not to get too excited or hopeful.

            “Does that make you uneasy?” Anzerra asked with concern.

            “No,” Rex said instantly. “You’re just nothing like what I expected.”

            Anzerra shook his hands in what might have been an amused gesture. “And what were you expecting?”

            “Well….” Rex grimaced in thought. “Someone… some _where_ a lot more like the rest of this planet. A typical criminal who is also a scientist, I guess.”

            “Instead you found a scientist who just happens to have been classified as a criminal. And this building is not the only one on Llanic that is much more than it looks from the outside. The more conspicuous ones tend to get broken into more often.” Anzerra’s eyes crinkled. “And what about you? What’s your affiliation?”

            “I… recently left Republic space, when I learned about the technology I’ve brought to show you. I think it’s being used to control the actions of innocent people. I’m hoping to find someone who can disable it without actually digging it out.”

             “Innocent people? Civilians? Who is controlling them?”

            Rex had hoped to get a better feel for Anzerra before saying too much. “How much do you know about brain implants?”

            “That depends… what kind of an implant are we talking about? You said ‘without digging it out’. It must not be an un-invasive accessory. Undetectable without scans?”

            “Yes… it’s a chip, very difficult to detect. It’s also organic.” Rex hesitated to pull it from his pocket. He wished he could tell where Anzerra’s eyes were pointing.

            “Organic? How was it installed?” Anzerra sounded fascinated.

            “I… I don’t know,” Rex realized. “But there are probably millions of people with these bio-chips in their heads. I have reason to believe the Republic wants to manipulate public support of the war by controlling the actions of these people. The person who this chip was taken out of told me he knew nothing about it.”

            “Hmm,” said Anzerra, raising his eyebrows. “That would be a frightening prospect, if it were true. Unfortunately, I can’t say if I can help you unless I have the chip itself to study. I assume you have evidence that this is a widespread concern rather than something your friend somehow ended up with alone.”

            “Yes. And I have his chip,” Rex said firmly. “Right here.” He pulled it from his pocket and held it up, his hand blessedly steady for once.

            Anzerra instantly stood and stepped forward. “May I?” he asked gently, but eagerly, cupping one of his hands toward Rex.

           Reluctantly, Rex stood and placed the transparent rectangle in his palm. Anzerra’s right thumbs curled over it, and he held it up to the light. Rex stared at it, this piece of himself that was also entirely foreign. It seemed to have a presence all its own.

            “Incredible,” Anzerra exclaimed softly. “Are you certain this is not simply a tumor of some kind?”

            “I’m sure,” Rex said. “It has the ability to completely override a person’s will, at a single command. I’ve seen it at work. It’s designed to make—to make whoever has it—unable to disobey orders from whoever gave them. This chip, it….” He felt sick again. “It makes whoever has it into nothing more than a slave. A droid. It’s wrong.”

              “That is quite a sickening thought, isn’t it?” Anzerra murmured, turning the chip over and over between his fingers. “Is there any pattern to who is implanted?”

            “I only know of three others for sure, but there is no pattern other than that they are all human and members of the Republic,” Rex said.

            “Are they escaped slaves, by chance?” Anzerra’s tone hushed to near a whisper. “Are you?”

            Rex opened his mouth and hesitated, trying to decide if affirming Anzerra’s suspicions would be to his advantage or not. He could work with the assumptions the doctor was making—in fact, it should have been an obvious back-story to adopt. If he had convinced Anzerra from the beginning that he was simply an ex-slave looking to free his family and friends, he might not have even needed to mention the Republic.

            “It’s alright, you know,” Anzerra said in a confidential tone, and Rex wondered if the vocabulator was programmed to sound like he was smiling when he spoke no matter what, or if he had some control over that. “I understand it might seem humiliating to admit it, but there are plenty of other ex-slaves who managed to escape and build a life for themselves here… some who have even crossed over to the Republic for refuge, however much good it may do them now, if what you say is true. Those blasted Zygerrians do occasionally pick up an escapee… so your silence is probably wise. My people are completely against it of course. Slavery. Anomid society is largely pacifistic. Your secret is safe with me… and the longer you stay free, the less likely you are to be retaken.”

            “I appreciate it,” Rex said, uncomfortable—more uncomfortable than he should have been.

            “But then, you weren’t owned by Zygerrians, were you?”

            Rex took a deep breath, fighting his gut-deep urge to defend the Republic from Anzerra’s unspoken accusations. Let him think the Republic was secretly re-instituting slavery. It didn’t matter.

            Anzerra laughed softly, keeping his hands behind his back as he paced very slowly, shuffling from one foot to the other in a rough oval. Rex tried to keep his eyes on the chip, nervous whenever it was out of sight for more than a second. “Protee told me you have a tactical droid acting as your bodyguard. You have some interesting connections for a former slave. Can you imagine? The Separatist military asking one of their own to play this sort of charade, just to avoid benefiting from my research openly…. Still, I think at least part of your story must be true. But which part?”

            “Does it matter?” Rex asked.

            Anzerra stopped and tilted his head and Rex got the distinct impression he was grinning at him sideways.

            “Ah… I like you, Jek. Whatever the truth is, I suppose it does me no harm to help you.” Anzerra shrugged. “I’ll take this to the lab right now and get a start on analyzing it. Why don’t you sit back down and finish your stew. By the time you’re finished, I should have some idea what we’re dealing with. I’ll have Protee lead you up.”

            “I’m not hungry,” Rex lied. “What will you want from me in exchange for this?”

            “Mm… yes… payment. Well, we can work that out later.” Anzerra’s unoccupied hand was again in constant, intricate motion. “I won’t add the stew to your bill, I promise. There may not even be a bill at all. Unlocking this chip’s secrets for a good cause and restoring my reputation may be all the reward I need.”

             And just like that, Anzerra was gone, out the door he’d come in from. Protee, who had been largely invisible in its corner by a large display cabinet, came forward just enough to be noticeable.

            “Don’t worry, Master Novar. Master Anzerra is a very capable scientist.”

            Rex sat down, feeling as if a part of his body had gotten up and walked off without him. He imagined it pulling further and further away, down levels and through unseen doors. Anzerra seemed trustworthy, but it was impossible to say. And he seemed capable, so hopefully the tests he was running now wouldn’t damage the chip in any way that would make it a useless specimen. The only sound in the room was the trickling of water in fountains, pumped quietly just as it was into the hydroponics tanks and in thin lines all throughout the building, all coming from deep underground.

            “Pardon me, Master Novar,” said Protee. “I have taken the liberty of reheating your meal, seeing as how you’ve left it for nearly twenty minutes, and it was getting rather cold.”

            Rex jerked awake—but he hadn’t fallen asleep. His mental patterns had been so wordless and abstract, like a muddled dream, intersecting cords of rivers and glowing wires. Was he that tired? His startled nerves thrummed and he shook himself. No, it didn’t feel like a sedative. Anzerra hadn’t drugged him. He was wide awake, alert. Just distracted with nothing again. His eyes had been open… perhaps the droid was exaggerating. Twenty minutes?

            He took the reheated stew and set to eating it, and the flavor and creamy texture of the vegetables brought him back to himself. How long since he’d had a proper meal and actually tasted it? Not since before Anaxes. He wondered if the tactical droid was getting impatient yet, and what it would do if Rex didn’t come back out until morning.

            “A thank you would not go amiss,” said Protee.

            “Thanks,” Rex said between swallows.

            “You’re quite welcome,” the droid said brightly.

            The room around him felt so isolated from the rest of Llanic. He could almost pretend he was sitting in some diplomat’s lounge on Coruscant, waiting for General Skywalker to come out of a meeting. Except then he would have been in armor or uniform. He would have had his brothers at his side, or within comm range.

            For a second, his appetite vanished, his stomach hurt. He felt the incomprehensibly vast distance between where he was and where he wanted to be, the people he wanted to have surrounding him. But he was where he needed to be. He was alive. That was enough. And he had warm food, and clothes, and a thin hope. He’d made it this far.

            When he was finished, he drank the rest of the punch.

            “Alright, now it’s time to take me to the lab,” Rex said as he deposited the glass on Protee’s tray. “Let’s see what Doctor Anzerra has to say.”

            “Just one moment, sir, while I take these things to the kitchen.”

            Protee tottered out into the hallway, and Rex paced to try and keep himself focused. He kept thinking of Anzerra’s lab as being one floor down rather than up as he’d stated. It bothered him how stubbornly his mind clung to that idea, like mixing up east and west only to see the sun going down in the direction it should have been rising.

            When Protee came back, it said, “Master Anzerra will see you now. If you’ll follow me.”

            They went through the door into a stairwell. There a second door stood immediately opposite, but Protee led him to the left instead, where the stairs went up, lit from below with luminescent strips. The stairs deposited them right into the lab, bright cones of light in a wide room with all kinds of tanks on tables, different colored fluids and plants flowing within. The high ceiling was covered in folded storage bins waiting to be brought down by robotic arm.

            “Nice set up you got here,” Rex commented to Anzerra, who stood in a darker corner sorting through a holographic display of different layers of tissue. He was beginning to see why Anzerra didn’t mind living on Llanic—if he hardly needed to leave this building, and the law was lax, there was no one to keep him from living and researching whatever and however he pleased.

            “Yes, very nice,” Anzerra agreed in a distracted tone, shuffling rapidly through the displays with his many fingers. “You know, this is quite the marvelous little pseudo-organ. It’s going to take time to study it. It _might_ speed things up if I took it to some friends of mine for a second opinion.” His voice took on a dreamy, monotonous quality. “I have a solid background in neurochemistry but this—”

            “No,” Rex interrupted. “The fewer people who know about it, the better. The chip doesn’t leave this building.”

            Anzerra raised an eyebrow at him. His face seemed melodramatically ominous, lit from below by the holoprojecter as it was. “Alright, have it your way, Jek.” His warm tone almost reminded Rex of General Skywalker’s teasing.

            “Sorry, Doctor,” Rex sighed. “I appreciate your help. But I’d rather this chip, and the information surrounding it, stay confidential, just between us.”

            “I understand,” Anzerra said lightly. “But you’ll have to allow me to keep the chip here for study, if you want me to make any progress at all. Where are you staying?”

            “We have a ship docked not too far from here.”

            “We?”

            “Just me and the droid.”

            “You’re welcome to stay the night. I’m sure it will be more comfortable than whatever narrow bunks are available there. Not the droid, but I’m sure it can find its way back on its own when needed.”

            Rex paused. The thought of just walking away from the chip for hours was nearly inconceivable. Anzerra shut off the projection and stepped up to one of his many tanks, checking the readings on the flat red keypad on its side.

            “That’s… very kind of you,” Rex finally said. “I’ll go talk to my droid… make sure he doesn’t blow a circuit.”

            “Grand! Protee, why don’t you go down as well so Jek can unlock the door? A building in a town like this needs a good security system, but ours can be a bit finicky.”

            “Right this way, Master Novar,” said the protocol droid.

            It was a silent trip back to the front door. True to Anzerra’s word, Protee had to punch in a passcode in order to open it. The tactical droid was waiting just outside the wall.

            “I have been waiting for nearly an _hour_ ,” TL-89 groaned. Or rather, he—it—said it loudly, monotonously, but with a slight lengthening of the last word. The effect was about the same. Rex wondered again why anyone would choose to give a droid such an annoying voice when current technology was perfectly capable of producing a voice like Anzerra’s, or even Protee’s.

            “Well, you’re going to have to wait a while longer,” said Rex, stopping just out of reach. “I’m staying here tonight.”

            TL-89 turned its head slightly toward the protocol droid, then back toward Rex. “You are foolish to trust him. You are outnumbered, and weak, especially during your sleep cycle.”

            Rex scowled. Truth was, he didn’t fully trust Anzerra yet, and in terms of self-defense it did feel like a much safer option to go to the ship. At least there, he knew with relative certainty that no one would kill him. Time had proven that to an extent, with the tactical droid. It was an odd realization, that he already trusted it more than an organic being who was, by all appearances, perfectly friendly.

            “I’m staying here. He has to study the….” Rex decided not to say anything where prying ears might here. “He has to study it, and I’d rather be here for whatever he finds. Come back tomorrow morning early.”

            “I do not take orders from you, human,” TL-89 said, drawing its head back sharply. “I do not agree with this plan.”

            “You don’t have to agree with it,” Rex scoffed. “But if you want to keep doing business together, you’ll come back around six hundred hours.”

            “Give me an estimated date of completion for this project. I will not stay on Llanic for much longer than ten days.”

            “I don’t know when it will be done,” Rex hissed. “But this _is_ part of our agreement. I’ve kept up my end of the deal so far. You _knew_ this would take more than a day. You said so yourself.”

            “I did not predict you would be foolish enough to willingly put your life in enemy hands. You are inconsistent.”

            Rex coughed a short, bitter laugh, but kept his voice near a tense whisper. “Oh. He’s the enemy now? Is there something you forgot to tell me, droid?”

            “I relayed to you my knowledge of his history. There is nothing to suggest he is particularly trustworthy.”

            “You said he was never charged with a violent crime,” Rex muttered. “Well, I guess we’ll find out if that means anything. If you’re so worried, give me your rifle.”

            “Ha,” the droid said tonelessly. “You cannot fire it accurately. It would be useless to you. I require it to discourage… scavengers.”

            For a moment, Rex stared at the droid, not comprehending. Then he realized the scavengers in question weren’t animals after food or weapons… just dealers after the droid.

           “It was worth a shot.” Rex didn’t really want the rifle anyway. It was designed for battle droids, not humans. He wanted the reassuring, gentle weight of a DC-17 at his belt, always in reach. “I’ll see you in the morning, droid.”

            “I will not be pleased if you are lying,” said TL-89, before Protee shut the door.

 


	30. Chapter 30

            Some time later, perhaps hours, Rex lay staring into the darkness in the guest bedroom Protee had led him to. The bed was softer than anything he could remember sleeping on. It felt strange to have it pillow around him when he shifted. He wasn’t sure if most people slept in such beds, or if it was just rich, eccentric anomid scientists.

            Rex didn’t have a chronometer, and he didn’t know how many hours it had been since his last “sleep cycle”, as the droid liked to put it. It reminded him of the Kaminoans. Growth cycles, sleep cycles. Humans didn’t talk that way.

            He should have insisted on sitting in on Anzerra’s research instead of letting himself be led away to rest. Again, he caught himself thinking of the chip as being downstairs. He lay there in his mental map, a familiar enough sensation from training, and despite his efforts to rearrange it so that the lab was in the correct place, the bright dot of the chip stayed stubbornly lower, like an afterimage that he couldn’t blink away. It was frustrating and made the pit in his stomach grow.

            Closing his eyes, he was in the lower depths of Coruscant, spots and neon lights flickering in and out of sight between running suits of armor all around him. Down a ramp and he was suddenly in Anzerra’s sitting room, alone, moving to the stairwell, opening the other door onto a set of stairs going down. He raised his right arm in the dim light, unable to tell if it was bare or armored from one moment to the next.

            He took a step forward and slipped. The bottom of the stairs rushed up at him.

            Rex’s whole body jerked and he opened his eyes to the dim outlines of shelves in the corners of the room. He flung the blanket off, pulled on his boots and went quietly to the door which opened with a quiet _shh_ when he tried the button.

            The plant-lined hallway was no longer brightly lit, but the tanks glowed in a dim, eerie blue. Water still trickled quietly. Protee was nowhere in sight.

            Padding down the hall, Rex opened the door to the sitting room. It was dark, darker than the hallway. He took a moment to remember exactly what he had seen earlier that night, and fit it all into a spatial understanding. Then he walked inside, let the falling door shut out the last bit of light, and went forward blind. Counting his paces, he kept his right hand outstretched and felt certain he had passed the opening between the first two couches. A moment later, his fingers met an uneven edge—the frame of a painting, or the doorframe? He found the corner, shifted to the left, and pushed the switch. Bars of light appeared as the door opened, the light strips under the stairs. He could see the second door beyond the first, perhaps leading to another staircase going down, as he’d dreamed.

            With a sensation in his chest like someone drumming their nails on his ribs, Rex pushed the button on the second door and was blinded by light from behind.

            “Master Novar,” said Protee from behind him. “Why are you out of bed?”

            A jolt hit his spine and Rex quickly did a controlled drop onto his back, rolling backward over his good shoulder to come up behind the protocol droid. Protee, painfully bright silver with its finger on the light switch, turned to face him and staggered back with a clatter, a taser baton in its hand.

            “Oh my,” it said, when it saw Rex squinting and blinking at the weapon. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. I thought you were a burglar. You shouldn’t be up walking about at this hour.”

            “Right,” Rex gasped, heart thudding. He hadn’t actually been touched by the baton… he would still be feeling the effects if he were. Was it just panic that had sparked through his nerves? “I was trying to find Doctor Anzerra.”

            The droid’s voice took on a tetchy tone. “I’m afraid Doctor Anzerra is very busy and does not wish to be disturbed. You can speak with him in the morning.”

            “I’ll be the judge of that,” Rex said. He glanced over his shoulder as he circled around Protee, realized the second door had not opened—the keypad and switch was glowing red, and continued to glow when he hit it again. But the upward-leading stairs were open to him at least. “I’m going up these stairs to speak with him whether you want me to or not. Maybe you’d better get up there and let him know I’m coming.”

            “You are being _very_ inconsiderate,” Protee scolded. It didn’t move.

            “I have something important to say. It’ll only take a second.” Rex didn’t want to turn his back on the protocol droid, who still hadn’t put down the baton.

            “He’s not up there. Master Anzerra is busy, I said! Now go back to sleep, sir, or I shall have to report your offensive behavior to the doctor when he comes back. I very much doubt he will want to help you after I tell him how you were snooping about.”

            Rex thought for a moment, then relaxed his posture and shook his head with a sigh. “Alright, Protee….” He rolled his eyes. “Have it your way.” He turned and made to walk past the droid. Just as they were parallel, he grabbed the baton and yanked it straight up, twisting so his back was to the droid’s. The metal fingers held on tight for half a moment before he kicked the back of its knee, grateful for the sturdy soles of his new boots. Protee rolled off him, hit the ground and gave a pathetic wail in the half second before Rex hit its head with the activated baton.

            The droid sparked all over and went still. A little ceramic dish displayed on one of the shelves Protee bumped against crashed into pieces on the floor. Rex turned off the baton and stared at the unlit eyes of the droid. He nudged it with his foot. No sign of life. It had been a gamble; some contact stunners didn’t work on droids.

            Anzerra wasn’t going to like this. But it probably didn’t matter anyway; the chip was gone. Rex had a bone-deep, instinctive certainty that it was gone, as impossible to ignore as the feeling that the chip _had been_ behind that second door before he fell asleep.

            Just to be completely certain, he ran up the stairs to the left of it and opened the door to Anzerra’s lab. Passing the rows of tanks, Rex turned the holoprojector on and flipped through the displays, but none of them looked like what he had seen. He left the room and went down to the locked door again, pushing buttons with no response. The silence became suffocating.

            “Come on… come on,” he whispered under his breath, trying the numbered buttons below the main switch in different combinations. No luck. They all just stayed red, and the door didn’t budge. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

            He didn’t _know_ the chip was gone. No matter how much he felt he knew it. No matter how much his awareness of it felt just as compelling as the nightmares he’d had before its removal. There was simply no rational way he could _know_ it as much as he felt he knew it.

            But proceeding as if it was still in the building _felt_ completely irrational. “Come on Rex, what the heck are you doing,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his forehead with his shaky left hand. Anzerra would come in and see him standing over his droid with a stun baton, trying to break through a door that was clearly off-limits to visitors. He would never agree to keep working on the chip after that.

            Kneeling, Rex turned Protee’s shoulders so he could get at the switch on his back. He flipped it, once, twice, and sighed in relief when the droid’s eyes flashed on and a warped tangle of meaningless syllables came from its vocabulator.

            “What?” it finally said, head and body jerking. “What happened? Who are you? Wait a minute, you attacked me! HELP! Master Anzerra!”

            “Calm down!” Rex put his left hand over its speaker grill. “ _I_ thought your master was gone!”

            Protee suddenly went very still. “Oh. Oh dear,” it said in a muffled voice.

            “Uh- _huh_. So he is. Listen, droid.” Rex took his hand off its face and lifted the baton to where it could see. “I _won’t_ dismantle you _or_ permanently fry your circuits if you tell me where he went with my chip and when he’s coming back.”

            “I am not at liberty to disclose that information, sir!” Protee said in a distressed tone. “My programming—”

            “So he did take the chip with him.”

            “I… I didn’t say that!” Protee huffed. “Now unhand me, sir!”

            Rex stood, both hands raised, the baton in his right. “You didn’t deny it, either.  Now… you can prove to me that he didn’t take the chip with him, _show_ me where it is, or I tear this place apart looking for it myself. We can do this the civilized way. Just tell the truth.”

            “Honestly!” Protee got awkwardly to its feet, teetering and jerking. “I _should_ tell you he’s gone off with your chip, and let you go on a wild bantha chase after him! You’ll never find him. _I_ don’t even know where he thinks he’ll find someone whose knowledge surpasses his in _this_ uncivilized city. But I was given direct orders to keep you here, and….” Protee straightened its arms suddenly. “And that is what I am going to do, even if you threaten my life, you buffoon!”

            The droid ran at him and Rex ducked out of the way. Protee crashed into the wall and knocked a plant off one of the stands.

            “Oh _no_ ,” the droid whined.

            “He ordered you to _keep_ me here? What’s so important about keeping me here if he already has my chip?” Rex felt it click. “He’s… planning on turning me in. He knows.”

            “It’s no use asking _me_ ,” said Protee. “He didn’t explain why.” The droid tried to make a break for the door, but Rex lunged and hit it again with the baton. The droid went down long enough for Rex to run into the hall, praying that the code he’d seen Protee put in would work.

            It did. The door opened, a rush of chilly, sour night air hit him, and there was TL-89. Rex had never been so relieved to see a droid in his life.

            “You have changed your mind,” it said.

            “Anzerra took the chip somewhere!” Rex ran past the droid and into the dark street. “I think he knows what I am. Or he was planning on selling… ransoming me….”

            “Stop. I did not detect anyone leaving this building.”

            “I _know_ he did.” Rex kept running, following the impossible certainty in his head.

            “STOP.” TL-89 cried harshly, running after him, loud and clanking. Rex didn’t slow, only when he skidded to turn sharply down an alley to the left. “STOP, HUMAN.”

            Bins of rotting organic matter, shady figures, crates of scrap metal, swarms of tiny nocturnal creatures, neon signs and dimly lit windows flew by Rex’s periphery as he ran blind, following a map in his head which slowly filled out in the space between where he was and where he felt the presence of the chip. He _felt_ it. But that made no sense.

            “WAIT,”  TL-89 commanded, gaining on him as he wavered between two stair-filled alleys. One went up and the other went down. Rex went up, against logic, following some irresistible internal command.

            Ten steps from the top of the stairs, his chest began to hurt. Five steps, he was wheezing and began to shake, lungs on fire.

            “I commanded you to wait, human,” TL-89 said loudly from behind him. Rex staggered weakly away, not wanting to be detained.

            “I’m—not trying t—to escape you,” he gasped. “I just… _have_ to find the chip.”

            “You do not know where you are going. You cannot run. Stay.”

            “I know what I’m doing!” Rex yelled. His voice snagged in his throat and cracked.

            “You are unstable. It is a side effect of the surgery.”

            “No… no,” Rex shook his head and continued edging away from the droid. “If you try to stop me… from finding it… I _will_ run away. You said I’d be allowed to look for a way to stop this!” Step by step he moved toward the missing piece of himself. There was only one way to find out for sure if he _was_ going crazy, and if he had just delivered millions of lives into the hands of the enemy. He had to close the distance.

            “Be calm,” said the tactical droid. “Cease moving.” It slowly advanced with hands outstretched as if Rex were a wild beast it intended to tame.

            Tingling all over, Rex spun and stubbornly continued running, each breath like a knife in his chest.

            “YOU ARE INJURING YOURSELF,” the tactical droid called.

            The chip stayed in the same direction no matter which way the streets diverted him, like a planet’s magnetic force pulling on a compass needle. He pushed his way through a crowd gambling on some street fight, hoping it would slow down the droid, and ran smack into a trandoshan. The hunter grabbed his head and threw him roughly to the ground. The gritty road bit into Rex’s face, arms and knees; he skidded and tried to get back to his feet, but found himself on his back, gulping air. He stared up at the blurred figure of the tactical droid standing over him.

            “This human belongs to me,” it said. Rex heard a blaster shot, muffled under his own wheezing.

            The droid’s white eyes turned on him and came closer as Rex’s vision cleared.

            “Impressive. You have not relinquished your new weapon. However, your malfunction is causing you to make enemies more rapidly than I would recommend. I will carry you back to the ship and locate a doctor. You seem to be in psychological distress. Anzerra must have harmed you. You are showing signs of intense fear.”

            “No,” Rex coughed breathlessly, getting to his feet, his chest still burning enough to make his eyes water. “I’m… I’m fine.” He looked around—a few weequay were staring at him, but the trandoshan was motionless on the ground.

            “We must leave this crowd,” the droid insisted, clamping down on his arm.

            Rex walked. His face and arms stung. He looked down and saw blood on his hands where they’d hit the ground. His right sleeve was ripped. He missed his armor.

            “Good. You are cooperating. I will give you a pistol as a reward if you do not run for the rest of the night. Explain Anzerra’s actions.”

            “I told you,” Rex puffed, his face and head pulsing with blood flow. “He took the chip somewhere.”

            “What is the location? What does he plan to do with it?”

            “I don’t know yet.” Rex tried and failed to take a deeper breath. “But I think I know how to get there.”

            The droid halted and stared at him.

            “It’s… that way.” Rex lifted his left hand and pointed, adjusting slightly until he felt as if he’d locked onto a target. “That way exactly,” he said, and relief washed briefly through his aching chest.

            “You have discovered a way to track it.” The droid lowered its volume. “You have access to Republic methods of finding you.”

            “Maybe… more or less,” Rex faltered. He let his hand drop, staring across the street at the buildings that blocked his way. Behind them, the city rose steeply.

            “What is the distance?”

            “I don’t know,” Rex said, aware of how crazy he sounded. “I don’t think it’s moving anymore….”

            “Show me how you are tracking it.” The droid let go of him and held a hand palm-up. “I may be capable of enhancing the data. I may interpret it with greater accuracy.”

            Rex stared at the droid’s three wedge fingers. “I can’t,” he said.

            The hand contracted into something like a fist. “It is useless to keep secrets from me, human. You have no other ally. I would stun you and carry you back to the ship if I was not certain it would further complicate your problems. I predict you will be more useful to me if I do not harm you.”

          “Smart droid,” Rex scoffed, stepping stolidly toward the hill. “But I don’t have a tracker. It’s all in my head.”

            TL-89 kept close on his heels. “That does not compute.”

            “Yeah… I know,” Rex said under his breath, a chill coiling in his stomach, seeping upward into his lungs. “It doesn’t.” Nothing made sense anymore. But he kept walking.

            That was the only reason he had gotten this far, he realized. He kept going even when nothing made sense, on the hope that, just like tonight, if he went far enough it would all fit together.

            “You mentioned no other implants or enhancements. Neither did the droid who performed the scans. Clones are not capable of tracking electrical signals without technological assistance.”

            “You wouldn’t think so,” Rex realized he was shivering again, but not from cold. It was a tingling, electrified humming in his skin, even as his chest stung with each inhale. His hands felt like they belonged to someone else despite how scraped and sore they were. “There must still be a link between my brain and the chip, somehow.”

            “You are purposely being difficult,” the droid accused.

            “Look,” Rex muttered as they passed the noisy entrance to another cantina. “I don’t know how else to explain it. All I know is that the chip is in this direction. And I’m _not_ going to waste time speculating about how or why. My first priority is keeping it out of enemy hands.”

            The droid just stared at him and continued to follow, E-5 held at the ready.

            Rex could feel the blood drying on his fingers, sticking to the baton. Gloves would be the next thing to beg off the droid, if it really kept its promise about the pistol. He tried to keep his pace quick but steady enough that he didn’t have to breathe hard. It wasn’t easy with the incline.

            “There are sectors of the city which are located underground,” TL-89 said several minutes later as they passed a crowd sitting drunkenly on the ground in front of a rickety stage full of singing Ithorians. “It is possible Anzerra’s residence is built above such a network.”

            “But he could have come out on another street and continued from there… he didn’t necessarily _stay_ underground.”

            “Human,” the droid said, looking up the hill. “Unless your goal is within less than two kilometers, it would be more efficient to return to the ship and make a direct flight.”

            Rex stopped abruptly.

            “Anzerra could have made use of a vehicle. He may not even be on the planet’s surface. What is the range of your internal tracking system?”

            “I… I don’t know. It… doesn’t feel close anymore,” Rex said, grimacing at himself. “Not yet.”

            “You are deluding yourself into believing you can detect the chip’s location. We are following a feeling. Your wish to find the chip causes you to believe you can track it. Such feelings have no basis in fact.”

            Rex closed his eyes stubbornly and focused on the point in his mind, trying to judge the distance. The tingling intensified, sinking through his skin and into his bloodstream—his mind slipped—

            “Human,” the droid grated in his ear.

            “Wait,” Rex breathed, the world spinning for a moment. “I think….” He hesitated to refocus, although the chip’s signal stayed clear in his mind. It felt like… the closest thing he could compare it to was the adrenaline after the battlefield went suddenly quiet.

            He flung an arm out, suddenly afraid of losing his balance, and the droid’s metal hand steadied him.

            “You are ill.”

            “No!” He opened his eyes and took a deep breath, emotions familiar and foreign swirling in his stomach and up into his throat. “I think you’re right… I think it’s still on the planet, but too far to walk….” He couldn’t say what part of his experience had told him that. He had no idea how to process what he had… what he had felt. Maybe some of the chip had remained embedded and was still in communication with the rest of it. It was the only explanation he could think of. “We should go back to the ship.”

            “Yes.”

            The droid nudged him with the end of the E-5 and Rex walked, the chip’s presence in his mind still constant even as the rest of the chaos faded into an uneasy background hum.

            “I am concerned. Your psychological state appears to be rapidly deteriorating.”

          “The sooner we get back to the ship and use it to look for the chip, the sooner we’ll know if I’m crazy or not,” Rex said firmly. He wished he had a speeder.

            He stopped on a landing that branched off in no less than seven directions.

            “I don’t recognize this place. Are you sure we came this way?”

            “I know the way back to the ship. Trust me. I am a droid.”

            That statement was so ironic Rex nearly laughed. But he held it in to spare his aching lungs. No sense giving the droid another reason to think he was losing it.

…

            The hills slowly rolled past below the ship, barnacle buildings giving way to occasional patches of brown-blue water or sand or black rock. Light was already creeping over the land again, smearing everything into stark shadows.

            Rex sat in the co-pilot’s chair, his hands washed and disinfected, his torn sleeve rolled up.

            “We are wasting fuel searching at this speed,” TL-89 said. “I will accelerate.”

            “No, no, wait.” Rex pointed out the viewscreen. “It’s there. Near that grey spot.”

            The droid turned its head toward him in that slow way that Rex was beginning to read as skeptical. But it said nothing, just banked left and began to circle down, looking for a place to land.

            They landed in a ravine near the foot of a hill full of four and five-story duracrete and metal buildings that looked much more like a real city than the shantytowns they’d passed.       

            “Alright, let’s go.” Rex got to his feet as soon as the engines began cycling down, and ran straight into the droid’s outstretched arm.

            “Wait. You must replenish yourself.”

            “I ‘replenished’ myself at Anzerra’s,” Rex muttered, but didn’t object when the droid offered him a water pack and a ration cube. He drained the water pack immediately, to keep his left hand free. He mentally added a good utility belt to his list of needed items.

            The droid grabbed Rex’s wrist to immobilize the baton he held. “You will stay no more than two meters from me at all times while we are outside the ship unless I give explicit permission. If you follow this instruction and do not do anything reckless, I will take you to buy a weapon and two other items. This will only be a reconnaissance mission.”

            “If I see an opportunity to get the chip back, there might not be _time_ to ask permission,” Rex protested.

            “If you disobey me, I will limit your use of the hygienic facilities.”

            “You think that’s going to stop me?”

            “I will also cease humoring your unproductive search for this chip. It is not my fault you lost it. I am not responsible for ensuring its return to you.”

            Rex spat out a disgusted breath and shook his head. “Fine! Fine… just… we’ll just look for now.”

            The droid released him. “Let us proceed.”

            Rex was tempted to whack the droid with the baton, just to test how effective it was against tactical droids. But TL-89 had been shockingly cooperative so far, and he might need to stay on its good side for whatever lay ahead.

            “I predict you will not find this chip,” TL-89 said once they reached the edge of town and its winding system of alleyways. “I am allowing you to understand the futility of this for yourself. Then you can no longer blame me for your failure.”

            “Thanks for clearing that up,” Rex muttered as they hiked up the inclined street.

            “If you are not satisfied after this, I may be forced to hospitalize you.”

            Rex stayed silent at that, focusing on the chip’s… signal.

            “If you were a droid, reprogramming you or replacing your damaged hardware would be possible. But if your mind is corrupted, full repairs may not be possible.”

            “Do me a favor,” Rex said. “Stop talking. I’m tired of arguing with you.”

            “I too am beginning to tire of this,” said TL-89.

            “Good. Maybe you’ll run out of battery and I won’t have to listen to you.”

            “Do not worry, human. You will become fatigued before I run out of charge.”

            “Look… the med droid must have missed something,” Rex said, half-hoping it was true. “I’m sure there’s an explanation for why I know where the chip is.”

            “I have already mentioned the explanation which has the highest probability of truth.”

            Rex quickened his pace, both to get away from the droid, and to reach the chip faster.

            “Remember the conditions I stated on the ship, human. No more than two meters.”

            “Well keep up, then!” Rex snapped. “It’s not my fault you’re slow.”

            “I could outrun you if I wished to. I am encouraging you to pace yourself and avoid injury.”

            Rex just took a deep breath, frustrated, unable to deny the raw feeling that still clung to his lungs. After another ten minutes, Rex stopped at the intersection of the steep, hard-packed street and a shady alley. His head was swimming. Already.

            The droid took his arm. “The heat is affecting you.”

            “Wh—” Rex protested, but the droid was already dragging him toward the nearest bar.

            “Find a cold beverage. After that we will search for half an hour and return to the ship.”

            “No point stopping,” Rex croaked. “It’s close. I know it.”

            “I have been patient,” TL-89 buzzed. “You will not find it this way. Accept the reality that you have failed.”

            “ _No._ I know where it is! It’s just up that hill!” Rex pointed with the baton. “In one of those buildings up there. It has to be.”

            TL-89 shook its head jerkily. “I will not tolerate this diversion any longer. You will come back to the ship with me.”

            “Droid… please,” Rex hissed desperately as he was hauled forward to the door of the establishment. “If it’s not there, then we’ll turn back. I’ve come this far, and I’m telling you, it’s _there!_ ”

            “Purchase a drink and a meal.” The droid pulled some credits from the belt around its chest and shoved them at him. “Then we will leave.”

            Rex took the credits, inhaled deeply and walked into the bar, straight up to the counter. The tender was a short human with heavily tattooed arms. Rex smacked the credits on the counter to get his attention. “I just need some water or something. Something to keep me hydrated out there.”

            The human turned around, and she grinned at him crookedly. “No spirits? We got chilled blue milk.”

            “That’s fine,” Rex said, impatient to get moving, even though it was refreshingly cool and dark in here. But it was also loud. Screens on the walls showed podraces and some other sport that involved tossing live creatures through the air.

            “In a hurry, huh? Better not be bringing trouble here.”

            “No trouble,” Rex assured her, pushing the credits forward again. She raised an eyebrow at the amount, took them and set the glass down in front of him a few minutes later. Then she walked off.

           With his glass drained in record time, Rex wiped his mouth, feeling a bit queasy, and looked toward the door. Making a break for it wouldn’t work unless he managed to stun the droid. Otherwise it would catch up to him, exhausted as he was. He looked for a back entrance. There was an open window with creaking shutters at the other side of the room.

            Not caring who noticed, he left his glass on the counter, hurried over and climbed through.

            His boots met a shallow puddle of something nasty on the other side. He didn’t look long enough to see what it was, loping forward as quietly as he could manage next to the festering gutter. It led up to a sheer stone wall and he turned left, hoping that even if forced to return to the street, the droid wouldn’t notice him in the sparse crowds.

            As he climbed the hill, he struggled against the exhaustion plaguing his body. Not enough air.

            But the chip was _here_. He could feel it sharper and clearer, closer until he stopped in the middle of the cracked and cobbled street and squinted up at the building closest on his right.

            _Jru Llanic Allied Cybernetics._

            A cybernetics institute? Rex zeroed in on one invisible point in the sheer metal wall, about three floors up. The walls were probably designed to be transparent only from the inside, but Rex didn’t have to see to know. It was through there. Down near the entrance, a sign read: _Discounted maintenance on cybernetic limbs and organs. Inquire within._

For a moment he felt relieved. Maybe Anzerra hadn’t told the Separatists or anyone else what the chip was for. There was even a slim possibility that the scientist really was just getting a second opinion.

            But then he saw the anomid himself emerge from the building, wearing a duster coat, and the anger flooded back. The chip was still in the building, he could feel it. Anzerra checked the chrono on his wrist and looked both directions before hurrying toward a parked speeder on the other side of the street.

            Rex fell in behind an enormous bothan for a moment, keeping it between himself and Anzerra until the anomid was nearly parallel with him. Then, turning on the stun baton, Rex ran forward and hit Anzerra right between the shoulders.

            Anzerra screamed. Everyone in the street looked his way as he dropped onto his side, convulsing into a ball. Rex turned the baton off and grabbed him under the arms, but he was a heavy, rigid weight. Yelling came from all around; someone rushed toward them and stopped at the sound of two blaster shots.

            “DO NOT APPROACH THAT HUMAN,” TL-89 said at full volume, and Rex, still straining to drag Anzerra away, raised his eyes to see the droid running up the hill. In less than a minute it reached him.

            “Help me get him on the speeder!” Rex cried breathlessly.

            “It will be locked.” The droid shoved the E-5 at him. “I will carry him.”

            He let go of Anzerra and took the rifle. The droid picked Anzerra up and ran.

            Rex fell in behind, jogging unevenly sideways at intervals to make sure no one was following. A humanoid face peered around the corner and he fired; the face disappeared. The metal of the gun threatened to burn his hands. After that, the way was clear and he could focus purely on not collapsing.

            It was a well-populated alley the droid had chosen. A sullustan sweeping his tiny front step stared at them as they passed, and vertical windows were propped open to act as service counters for various vaguely-marked establishments.

            They turned left at the first opportunity. Anzerra was gasping in pain in the droid’s arms.

            “We need—to question him,” Rex panted.

            The droid said nothing. It stopped at a crossway between alleys and headed downhill into a wider one. They turned right and down a flight of stairs passing under the road. It was crowded and noisy in the under level, brighter than Rex had expected once his eyes adjusted to the many artificial lights casting shadows on the metal-braced ceiling.

            “We must cover our tracks,” the droid said as they pushed through the crowd. 

            Rex wanted to ask who was following, but he could barely keep up with the droid as it was—he needed every breath.

            On the other side of the mass of sentients, the tunnel branched two ways. The droid kept right and paused when they reached a blocked set of stairs with a spray-painted sign: _Under Construction._

It kicked the sign aside and continued up the perfectly sound set of stairs. Rex stopped to set it upright again when he’d passed it. At the top, the stairs opened up into what looked like a gutted apartment building. Three of the walls were filled in, the skeleton of the fourth covered in a tarp, and the upper interior floors just a web of crisscrossing beams.

            “This will be sufficient.” The droid kicked a sheet of plasteel across the hole leading to the stairwell, and dropped Anzerra unceremoniously on the ground.

            Rex passed the rifle back to the droid with relief, and tried not to double over, tried to slow his breathing. Every part of his body was pulsing. “Don’t shoot him.”

            “I will refrain,” the droid said, “until he tries to escape.”

            “I don’t have your chip,” Anzerra moaned weakly, his muscles only just beginning to unlock. “I just went to loan it temporarily to some specialists, and see if it—”

            “You had no right to take it!” Rex barked.

            “How else was I supposed to—”

            “I told you the chip doesn’t leave the building! That was the condition for handing it over to you!”

            “I...it was nothing personal,” Anzerra fumbled.

            “Oh, it’s _very_ personal,” Rex snarled in a voice roughened by exhaustion. “That thing—was a part of my body! And it was my last hope to save the entire _galaxy!_ ”

            “The entire—galaxy?” Anzerra half laughed, half sobbed weakly. “That’s… a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

            “ _Don’t,_ ” Rex warned, pulling the baton back out of his belt. Anzerra flinched

            “I knew you were ex-military.” Anzerra tried to push himself off the floor. His elbows buckled and wobbled. “You’re… you’re a clone, aren’t you?” He groaned and half-rolled into a lopsided sit, pushing back with his feet to brace himself against the wall. His hands convulsed together in sporadic signs.

            “I’m asking the questions here, Doctor. What did you do with that chip? Who did you tell about it?”

            “Just the scientists at the institute.”

            “And what did you tell them it was?”

            Anzerra paused to catch his breath. Or to formulate a better lie.

            “I told them what I learned from you,” Anzerra finally breathed out. “No more, no less.”

            Rex bristled. “And did you also tell them your suspicions about my identity? You think they aren’t going to turn around and call the nearest separatist fleet? They’re going to sell it to them so the separatists can weaponize it!”

            “Oh come now, you don’t know that for certain,” Anzerra sighed weakly. “Llanic isn’t exactly known for its loyalty to the Confederacy. But I suppose I must admit it is a possibility. I swear to you, I never went to them intending to be guilty of a massacre.”

“Don’t act like you were doing me a favor,” Rex said disgustedly. “You _were_ going to turn me over to them. You acted like you’re some kind of pacifist, and then you—!”

            “I’m not a pacifist,” Anzerra interrupted in an unsettlingly reasonable voice. “Not by anomid standards, anyway. But I would like to see an end to the war… believe me, Jek, these people will know more about how to unlock the secrets of that chip than I do.”

            “I don’t trust them, or you,” Rex breathed in a low growl. “Not with so much at stake. You mentioned a massacre. Tell me what they’re planning to do with it.” He swung the baton over his head.

            Anzerra flinched and lifted his hands. “I don’t know what they plan to do! I only... I believe they—”

            “I don’t care what you believe! Tell me what _they said_ they would do with the chip.”

            Anzerra paused, hands motionless for once as he thought. “They said they would study it to confirm its nature and applications.”

            “No guarantee of confidentiality,” Rex guessed.

            “No,” Anzerra said quietly.

            Rex scratched the trembling fingers of his left hand into his bristly scalp. “No,” he breathed, staring at Anzerra. An ugly feeling filled his stomach, like blood in his mouth. “ _You_ … you will march back in there and _take the chip back_.”

            “I….” Anzerra shook himself and continued in a dull voice. “It’s useless, Jek. They have no intention of giving it back to me.”

            Rex made another disgusted noise. “So you _did_ mention your suspicions about its origins.”

            “I only mentioned Republic clones as a possibility in order to provide context.”

            Rex felt a chill wash through his already tense stomach. He hadn’t realized how much he was still clinging to the hope that the situation wasn’t as dire as it seemed. “Offer to work for them on the project. Earn their trust.” He could barely keep his voice steady.

            Anzerra laughed weakly again. “Earn their trust. As if it’s that simple. If you’re right and they’re going to sell it to the separatists… they’ll never trust me not to sabotage their efforts; that’s exactly what cost me my position at the academy in the first place. I refused to work on weaponry that would result in harm to civilians. I’m sorry, Jek… I truly am. I made a mistake in the name of doing good. But you’re a soldier. You’re all soldiers… what else is a soldier for but to die? What else is war but senseless death? Ultimately… your deaths were inevitable. You know that, don’t you? At least you escaped. There’s still time to warn your friends.”

            Rex stood still, the wild anger hardening into coals. Everything Anzerra said sounded like philosophical cover for a guilty conscience. “I’ll get it back myself.” He took a sharp breath, adjusting his grip on the baton. “Didn’t they ask you where I was? Where you got it?”

            “I… yes,” Anzerra said tentatively, “but I said you were much less useful than the chip…. I told them I let you go.”

            “I don’t trust you.” Rex swung the baton.

            “WAIT—NO—” Anzerra cried and gave a strangled noise as the shock spread instantly from his shoulder and dissolved into distorted gasps of pain. It was still on a low enough setting it wouldn’t knock him out.

            Rex stood there shaking, staring at this man who had probably sold all his brothers for the promise of a case of credits somewhere. When TL-89 said, “I will dispose of him. He is of no use to us,” it was a surprise to hear himself say “No.”

            “He is your enemy, now,” TL-89 argued, sighting with the rifle.

            “No,” Rex said, louder, and shoved the E-5 off target. “We can use him.”

            “You have already stated that he is untrustworthy. There is no benefit to his existence.”

            Anzerra was signing feverishly, the same signs over and over, his hands trembling, and a soft, inhuman noise was coming from his mask—like the broken hum and crackle of an electrical port that wasn’t quite making full contact with a plug.

            “Can you walk?” Rex growled dully at Anzerra.

            The scientist kept signing and pointed to his mask repeatedly with both hands.

            “It seems you have broken his apparatus,” TL-89 said. “Your emotions are counterproductive as ever.”

            “ _What?_ So you mean he can’t speak?” Rex cried in disbelief, and the anger and disgust that surged through him at the sight of Anzerra cowering there was so strong he nearly kicked the anomid in the face.

            Instead, he took a step back. TL-89 grabbed Anzerra’s arm and hauled the scientist to his feet. It took several tries, as Anzerra’s knees buckled or his legs failed to fully extend.

            “We will return to the ship and take him back to his lab. I expect he has the materials to repair his speaking device,” said the droid.

            “And just walk away from the chip?” The thought of increasing the distance between himself and the lab went completely against the immediacy of the situation.

            “You can maintain a sense of the location of the chip, can you not?” the droid said, though Rex suspected more to placate him than because the droid believed it. “It is unlikely that it will be moved from the institute in the short time it takes to repair the anomid’s speaking apparatus.”

            “Right,” Rex said through clenched teeth. He took a deep breath. “Right,” he said again, softer.

            The droid led the way, out around the tarp and back onto the street, and Rex trailed freely behind, amazed that the droid had taken charge and still trusted him not to run away. He measured his breathing to try and subdue the pain in his lung, tried not to think about what a fool he’d been to trust Anzerra in the first place. It took focus not to zone out and slow down.

            He had wanted to kill Anzerra. His heart was still pounding, his fists still pulsing with the thought. But the scientist was, despite everything, still the clearest hope he had.

            The sound of the E-5 blaster going off brought him back into his body and he saw the droid pushing a dead Er’kit off the large seat of a speeder bike.

            “Do you have to kill everything?” Rex muttered, too quietly for the droid to even hear. The worst part was, he was grateful; now they wouldn’t have to walk all the way back to the ship with Anzerra slowing them down. But that Er’Kit was a civilian, even if they were also likely a criminal.

            As Rex climbed onto the back of the bike, behind the droid who was holding Anzerra up with one arm, his own thoughts felt like intruders, every death or urge for violence felt justified by the overwhelming need to get the chip back. _They’re counting on me_. The thought repeated and wore deep in his mind. But he wondered, for just a moment, what his brothers might think of him if they could see him losing control like this. _Losing your mind_ , said the voice of the droid in his head, and Rex tried to focus as the dirty streets of Llanic blurred together.   


	31. Chapter 31

            “Sergeant Kona! Did you hear anything I just said?”

            Commander Fox’s helmet filled Rex’s visor. He came more stiffly to attention. “Loud and clear, sir.”

            “You better not go playing hero like that again. We have a _system_.”

            “Yes, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.”

            “Good.” Fox moved away to go speak with another officer.

            Rex walked over to the other side of the hangar where the rest of the troops waited in their red armor. “Alright, men. Time to wash up, we’ve got an early patrol tomorrow.”

            As they filed down the hall of HQ toward the city guard’s barracks, Rex nudged one of the troopers with his elbow. “Hey. Nice shooting out there.”

            The trooper jerked. “Thank you, sir,” he said.

            “Just keep in better touch with the rest of the squad next time, eh, kid? The Commander likes to know what’s going on, and so do I.”

            Dogma took his helmet off as they entered the barracks, eyes downcast. “Yes, sir.”

            The floor tilted under Rex and he fell—his eyes opened and he was half sprawled in the co-pilot’s chair. For a second he lurched to orient himself, a yell escaping him when he saw the tactical droid sitting down at the helm. Then he remembered. He felt the civilian clothes he was wearing, along with the dim spot in his mind that was the chip’s location.

            “Anzerra. Where’s Anzerra?” He looked to the droid, trying to remember, but the last thing he could recall was feeling dizzy on the back of the speeder bike.

            “Your panic is irrational,” TL-89 said, not looking at him. “I have not harmed you. Doctor Anzerra is in the cargo hold. You passed out just before we reached the ship.”

            Rex took a moment to breathe. The dream stuck to the edges of his mind. It had felt so real, even though he was slowly realizing it made no sense. He and Dogma had never been part of the city guard.

           “Did you… carry me here?” he finally asked.

            “You would prefer I left you outside?”

            “I don’t appreciate being moved around like some prop while I’m unconscious!” Rex growled. He looked out the viewscreen and saw Llanic’s glowing sphere below. “Aren’t we going back to Anzerra’s?”

            “Affirmative. You may send a warning to your allies, in the likely event that your plan to retrieve the chip does not succeed.”

            “Droid….” Rex paused in thought for a second. Still disoriented, he put a scabbed hand to his head and tried to drag himself out of the last shreds of the dream. He began remembering more of it, a sense of the mission they’d been on, taking a group of dangerous criminals into custody…. “Why do you… not that I don’t appreciate it, but….”

            “Record your message, human,” the droid said, and pressed a button on the comm panel.

            “Wait.” Rex reached over and turned it off. “Who are you sending this to?”

            “The Republic.” TL-89 shoved his hand away from the panel.

            “But who in the Republic?”

            “The intermediary will decide how to disseminate the information.”

            Rex sat for a moment, trying to see some ulterior motive in TL-89’s actions. “Look… droid… I appreciate you keeping your promise. But I need to know more about who this intermediary is before I trust him with this information.”

            “The intermediary is trustworthy. If not for the intermediary, you would be dead.”

            “Yes! But… who is it? Which side is the intermediary on? And,” Rex went on, baffled, “why do _you_ want to warn the Republic? What’s in it for you?”

            “The intermediary is not allied to either side,” TL-89 said. “If you do not wish to send your message, we will return to Anzerra’s lab now.”

            “No! No, I just have to know who it will reach. If the wrong person hears it first, it will only accelerate the enemy’s plan!”

            TL-89 stared at Rex for a moment before turning back to the navigational controls.

            “Droid,” Rex said, hating the careful tone he was forced to adopt. “Please. This is important. How does this intermediary know Echo in the first place? If you ask, will the intermediary only give the information to him?” He wondered what good that would do. But the wild hope of getting back in contact with one of his brothers gripped him.

            “I do not know what _Echo_ is,” TL-89 said. The viewscreen turned away from the planet and toward the darkness of space. “I received the request to retrieve you from the intermediary without elaboration on who sent it.”

            “So you were paid to rescue me?”

            “I owed a favor to the intermediary, and upon retrieving you, I predicted you might be of use to me.”

            “Owed a favor?” Rex frowned, but when TL-89 didn’t elaborate he sighed. “You know my motives. You know what I’m trying to do. But I don’t know yours. I’m _trying_ to cooperate, but I need more information. Echo was the person who arranged for my survival in the first place. I assume he asked this intermediary for help, and the intermediary then contacted you. In that case, maybe he can get a message through to Echo specifically.”

            “The intermediary does not speak to organics,” TL-89 said. “Is this Echo a droid?”

            “No,” Rex said immediately. “Not… exactly. He’s a cyborg.” Rex felt momentarily guilty for saying it, as if it were an insult. “Why does that matter?”

            “Send your message,” the droid repeated.

            “Not without knowing more about who’s relaying it!”

            “Ungrateful human,” TL-89 buzzed.

            Rex opened his mouth to protest, but remembered how he’d acted, getting dragged forcibly by the droid, escaping through the window of the bar. The weeks of being allowed to search for Anzerra. How crazy he must have sounded, saying that he could feel the chip in his mind. The droid had cooperated with him more often than not. It could have stunned him. The gun was always there in its hands. It could have killed him. At the very least, it could have abandoned him. And yet here it was offering him a chance to warn his brothers, if only he would trust it. Something was tangled inside him—an emotion rose but he couldn’t say what it was.

            “What do you want from me?” Rex asked quietly instead. “This isn’t some game. The enemy is too powerful to underestimate.”

            “If you have no intention of warning your allies, I will re-enter Llanic’s atmosphere now.”

            Rex bit back the urge to point out that the droid hadn’t answered his question. After losing the chip and then _passing out_ on the ride back to the ship, the droid’s continuing patience was more than he could have hoped for—and the chance to continue his mission despite all the things that had so far gone wrong, even as every day he felt himself slipping away from any sense of his old efficiency. It was more than he would have gotten from General Skywalker in the same situation.

            _No. That’s not true._ Sick at that thought, Rex sighed. He _would_ get the chip back. And he _would_ get in contact with his brothers. But not until he knew for sure just who—or what—was on the other side of the transmission.

            “Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s head back to Anzerra’s.”

            The droid turned the ship around without another word, and Rex hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.

…

            “It is time to disembark.”

            They had settled down in a flat, busy landing zone, much closer to Anzerra’s than last time they’d come this way. The droid reached into its pouch as the ramp lowered and handed Rex some credits.

            “Refuel the ship before you follow me to Anzerra’s house. I will attempt to repair his mask.”

            Rex looked down at the credits, entertaining rebellious thoughts. He had learned enough on Llanic about the cost of things to know it wasn’t enough for a good blaster, but plenty for a used utility belt and gloves. Or, alternatively: a good meal and maybe a small medkit. Surveillance equipment was something he had no way to gauge the price on.  He wondered how cooperative the droid would be with the plans that were starting to form in his head. But maybe there was enough tech at Anzerra’s that they wouldn’t need to buy much else.

            Down the ramp, Rex greeted the attendant, trying to ignore the way everything felt like a simulation. “Just fill her up,” he said. “Medium grade fuel, nothing too fancy.”

            “Sure thing!” said the Nautolan briskly, her headtails bound in bright orange bands. She stopped short as TL-89 stepped out behind Rex, supporting a rumpled, sickly-looking Anzerra with one of its metal hands and holding the E-5 in the other. The attendant laughed nervously. “Uh… is your droid gonna blast me if I overcharge?”

            “It might,” Rex said lightly. “I’ve never seen anyone risk it.”

            “Well, guess it’s a good thing I’m never the first at anything new.” The Nautolan saluted him with a wink and a grin. Rex quickly turned his startled expression into an amused one.

            “Right,” he said. Sometimes civvies saluted each other in jest. It didn’t mean she knew what he was. Still, it was hard to loosen his shoulders as TL-89 locked up the ship, took Anzerra into the crowd, and disappeared. TL-89’s new support of his efforts seemed too good to be true.

            When the Nautolan finally returned and stated the price, Rex paid without haggling and hurried after the droid. The streets on the way to Anzerra’s looked different by daylight, but Rex remembered the way, and when he pushed the button on the door, Protee answered.

            “Oh. It’s you,” the protocol droid said bitterly, but it stepped back, eyeing the stun baton in his hand. “I ought not to let you in. Hurting my master after he offered to help you! It isn’t proper.”

            “Where’s TL-Eighty-Nine?” Rex asked.

            “Up in the lab, of course. At least he seems capable of rudimentary repairs, once I supplied him with the specifications. I tried to tell him I could repair it myself but of course he’s a military brute who would rather not trust me. As if I would do anything other than a perfect job! Poor Master Anzerra is in such a state… but at least he’s back where I can take care of him.”

            Protee hovered around Rex as he walked down the first hallway and into the sitting room. The familiar, trickling quiet of the short corridor was a relief, but the images of his dreams surfaced almost immediately now that his mind wasn’t busy navigating the crowded street. He focused on the sound of his own footsteps. One at a time, not dozens. _Why the City Guard? Why Dogma?_

            “Droid?” Rex called, just before he reached the top of the stairs to the lab. It was much brighter than it had been the night before, sunlight diffusing through clouded windows Rex hadn’t even realized were there. He’d mistaken the design-inlaid glass for dark stone or chrome walls in the nighttime lighting. Anzerra sat hunched at a work table, his white hair loose as he sipped something—perhaps more covado punch. TL-89 was at the next table over, head bent quietly over the anomid’s detached mask.

            “Is there anything more I can do to make you comfortable, sir?” Protee said, in the soft tone of someone speaking to the dying.

            Anzerra frowned—Rex could actually see it now that his mouth was uncovered—and made a few abrupt signs, barely glancing at Rex.

            “But sir, are you sure? You are under no obligation to help these ruffians!”

            Anzerra’s head tilted with one eyebrow raised toward the E-5 which was lying right next to his mask on TL-89’s work table, and he signed a few more brief phrases.

            “But…” Protee sounded strained. “Yes, Master Charist. I see your point.”

            “How’s it look?” Rex went to TL-89’s side and looked down at the mask.

            “Repairs are ninety-five percent complete.”

            “Oh. Good,” Rex said, surprised. Maybe his anger hadn’t set them back that much after all. He looked over at Anzerra and laid a hand carelessly on the droid’s rifle. “Doctor. I hope you’re ready to talk as soon as that mask is repaired.”

            “There will be no need for violence!” Protee insisted.

            “Is that a translation, or just your opinion?” Rex noticed Anzerra was signing again.

            Protee huffed and turned away from Rex, trying to straighten its master’s rumpled hair before the anomid waved the fussy droid away and finger-combed it himself.

            Rex looked around at the lab while he waited for TL-89 to finish working. It was evident that Anzerra’s primary passion was plants. Very little of the bulky equipment folded up into the ceiling seemed related to anything other than careful observation and storage of aquaponic tanks and various seedlings or cuttings. Charts depicting molecular structures or stages of plant life covered the walls, and diagrams Rex could make little sense of were drawn all over a board near the stairwell door.

            What could a scientist like this own that would be helpful in infiltrating a cybernetics institute? Rex reminded himself that Anzerra had been enlisted in research for the Separatists. There had to be something he and the droid could use, if only information. He paced quietly around the edge of the room, rummaging in drawers of smaller equipment that he found under the work tables. He could feel Anzerra watching him, and once or twice saw the scientist look up with a tight-lipped stare.

            “Repairs complete,” TL-89 announced, and handed the mask to Anzerra, who immediately put it back on.

            “Well, let’s hope your repairs hold,” Anzerra muttered as soon as it was back in place. “I don’t need anything else adding to this headache.” His fingers laced on the table in front of him, trembling a little.

            Rex sat on the work table facing Anzerra, so that he was looking down on him even more. “Tell me everything you know about that cybernetics institute. No lies this time. Will the chip be staying there?”

            “I don’t know for sure. AH-ta-tat!” Anzerra lifted his hands twitchily as TL-89 picked up the E-5, but the droid just holstered it. “It’s the truth! If you shoot me how can I keep talking?”

            “Tell me what you _do_ know,” Rex growled. “And you’d better hope it’s worth your life.”

            “It seems likely that they will keep it at the institute for further study. I talked to two of the scientists there, Doctors Vertie and Luredo, and Vertie seemed to think it would only take a week to understand the basics of the chip’s possible functions.”

            “Vertie and Luredo,” Rex repeated, committing the names to memory. “How tight is security? Can anyone just walk in?”

            Anzerra sighed loudly and held his head in his hands. “The lifts and doors are opened by key-cards or numbered codes; I assume only the staff is supposed to move from lab to lab. I didn’t see where they put the chip, but the meeting took place on the third floor in what I think may be Vertie’s lab. It was the second door on the left straight down the hallway from the lift.”

            Rex thought for a moment. “Do you have any surveillance equipment?”

            “Surveillance equipment? You mean cameras and bugs and things? Why would I have anything like that?” Anzerra asked weakly. “I’m a biologist, not a spy.”

            “But you have credits,” said Rex.

            Anzerra’s voice was reluctant. “Yes.”

            “Looks to me like you have two options.” Rex held up his scabbing fingers. “One, you go back into that building yourself and get the chip back, or two, you pay for a bug I can plant in Vertie’s lab.”

            “I didn’t expect this plan to be so in-depth. What are you going to do once you bug her?”

            “Find out where the chip is, what the scientists are telling the separatists about it, and whether or not I can walk in there myself to get it back.”

            “Why not just abduct her as you’ve abducted me and bully her into giving it to you?” Anzerra’s voice was as bitter as Protee’s now. “Is this a human thing? Even a clone has some sense of chivalry?”

            “I’ve learned my lesson about trusting anyone to help me,” Rex muttered. “I’d rather know the information firsthand so I can’t be deceived when I _do_ persuade her to give me her keycard. I can’t afford any more slip ups.”

            “Good,” said TL-89 abruptly, and Rex felt a pang of resentment. For himself or for the droid, he wasn’t sure.

            “Alright, well,” sighed Anzerra. “We’ll see what we can get for the credits I have currently withdrawn. And then, if you’ll excuse me, I’d rather lock up shop and return to your ship because it may very well be that the separatists will come here looking for _you_ , and if I’m home there will be another _pleasant_ round of interrogation, and my nerves literally can _not_ handle any more stress for the next two weeks.

            “Why would they come here to look for you if you didn’t give the chip directly to them?” Rex asked.

            Anzerra’s eyes narrowed; he shifted. “I’m only saying, if the scientists do tell the separatists that it came from a clone… they have very few leads to go on. Why not check those few that they have?”

            “Not so confident in your own story now, are you,” Rex said. “Alright. You can gather your credits and a few things to bring with you. But we’ll be watching.”

            “Of course,” Anzerra sighed. “And there’s a chance the separatists will also be watching. Activity from my account might just tip the separatists off, if they’re watching to find out what became of me, so I’d rather not withdraw more until I’ve come up with a more suitable story.”

            Anzerra rose cautiously, and Rex couldn’t tell for sure but he thought Anzerra was staring at the droid’s rifle.

            “What are you going to do with me once you get what you want?” Anzerra asked.

            “What do you think?” Rex said resentfully. “Keep you around to study the chip. It’s the least you can do.”

…

            They left Protee at the house, despite the droid’s fussing.

            “But Master Anzerra, I don’t even know when you are to return! Surely this would all be much simpler if I simply called the authorities?”

            “Do that, Protee, and I might end up dead.” Anzerra’s simulated voice was tense. He wore a long pearly-grey cloak and held a large suitcase’s handle in both hands. “If you want to keep me safe, stay here and tell anyone who comes calling that you haven’t seen me since last night, and you don’t know where I could be, and you’re very worried.”

            “I am _exceedingly_ worried!”

            “Good. Then your distress will be convincing. Goodbye, Protee. Take good care of the house while I’m gone.”

            TL-89 nudged Anzerra with the E-5 and the anomid marched purposefully away from the house, probably trying to summon some small illusion of control over his circumstances. Rex wondered if his own attempts to do the same were so pitiable.

            It was a silent march back to the ship, where they locked Anzerra in the cargo hold with his suitcase and headed back out to the nearest market with a handful each of Anzerra’s credits.

            “I will find the surveillance equipment we require,” said TL-89. “You may buy whatever else you think will guarantee your success in this mission. Return within one hour.”

            Before Rex could respond, the droid walked off into the crowd, leaving him alone... and unsupervised in the open street. For half a moment, wild thoughts of abandoning the droid and the ship raced through Rex’s mind, but they faded just as quickly. The droid had been helpful so far, and it was the only one who could lock and unlock the ship where Anzerra was. And Anzerra was his best chance of success in understanding everything.

            A blaster pistol. That would be his purchase, if he could find a decent one for the amount of credits he had now. Rex walked into the chaos of the nearest market, trying to focus on reading the signs above the stalls.

            The distant and disoriented feeling, he noticed, always hit him worst when he changed from one environment to the next—from the quiet of the ship to the noisy landing zone, or from the brightness of the streets to the dim light of Anzerra’s hallway. As a series of small clouds passed quickly over the sun, pulling everything Rex saw in and out of focus, he felt like he was walking the street blind, his body moving on autopilot through the crush just as it knew to move through the flashes and movement of a battlefield without consciously processing the location of everything around him. Somehow, he walked an entire block like this before knocking into someone.

            “Watch it!” snarled the Duros, and she crossed her arms protectively over the feeble life forms clinging to her vest. Rex didn’t get a good enough look to be sure if they were her own younglings or some other kind of creature, and while he tried to locate her again in the crowd, he nearly let the glint of a metal eyestalk pass by without notice.

            A moment later the sun emerged again, the glint reappeared near the tables of miscellaneous tech a few meters away: the metal eyestalk of a palowick cyborg who was leaning on a cane. The eye was drooping, inactive; her remaining eye was a slit against the brightness and her frown hovered and swayed a bit over the wrinkled skin of her protruding belly. She picked up a cheap droid hand on display and immediately put it back down.

            Rex slowed his pace and watched the stall, picking out two more cyborgs who were hovering around the table: one kaleesh with a metal arm, one sullustan with a metal jaw. As Rex watched, the sullustan drifted off to another stall, seeming disinterested. After a moment’s thought, Rex walked toward the table himself with an exaggerated limp.

            “See any good legs in there?” he asked as he approached. The kaleesh ignored him, picking over the merchandise and muttering disdainfully in another language. But the palowick looked over immediately and her good eye swept over him.

            “Wasn’t looking, pollywog,” she said in a musical voice, husky with age.

            “No good eyes either, I take it?” Rex said, also picking up the metal arm she’d looked at, just so he wouldn’t have to look at the togrutan shopkeeper. Her markings sent a stab of pain into his gut.

            “Oh, well, even if I find a replacement, I can’t install it myself,” the palowick sighed. Then, in a conspiratorial tone, “I was gonna ask her if she did repairs, but she doesn’t seem too friendly.”

            “You ever thought of going to the Jru Llanic Cybernetics Institute?” Rex asked. “I wonder what their prices are like.”

            “Too high for an old singer like me.” She bobbed her lips once as if nodding sadly to herself.

            “Yeah? Maybe I could help you out.”

            Her good eye turned toward him again, so suddenly it almost felt like a warning. “Oh? What’s the catch?”

            “No catch,” Rex said quietly. “I just wanna know what it’s like in there. But I’d have to talk to my… business partner. He’s the one in charge of the credits. I think I can convince him it’d be a worthy investment.”

            “Honey, if you can’t afford to go yourself why would you shell out credits to some old frog like me?” She smiled wryly and whacked his “bad” leg with her walking stick. When it connected with muscle and bone instead of metal, her expression changed instantly to nervous surprise.

            “I’m not looking for replacement parts,” Rex said, even quieter, so that she had to lean forward to hear him. “They stole something from me and I need to get it back. All you have to do is plant a bug in one of the cybernetic labs so I can figure out where they’re keeping it. And in return, we’ll pay to fix your eye.”

            “I make it a rule not to get mixed up in any gangs or syndicates,” the palowick muttered nervously, and shifted, angling her shoulders for an escape. “How else you think I got to be this old, you know?”

            “We aren’t affiliated with anyone,” Rex said. They’d turned their back to the stall now and taken a few steps away from the kaleesh, who was arguing with the shopkeeper. “You can take or leave the offer. If you take it, we’ll pay for the entire replacement of your eye. But—”

            The sound was a bit like distant applause, at first, but Rex recognized what it was half a second before he got drenched in the sudden downpour. The sensation of dozens of fat raindrops hitting the bare skin of his arms, neck, and face made the market melt and mix with a vision of an outdoor training arena on Kamino, his hair plastered to his forehead, his blaster slippery in his hands, and the stillness of Echo and Diode squad beside him on Anaxes, his breath coming tight.

            “Hey… you alright?”

            Rex refocused, slowly recognizing the look on the palowick’s face: worry. She quickly took her cool, knobby fingers off his shoulder.

            “You must not be used to the rain… you have a cloak or anything to keep you warm?”

            “I’m fine,” Rex said automatically. “This is nothing.”

            “Tell you what,” said the old singer, nudging him to walk around the back of the stall. “My hut’s just down the bank. You tell me a little bit about yourself, and I’ll give you one of my old cloaks and send you back to talk to your partner about this deal you wanna make with me.” Her voice had gone from nervous to warm so quickly Rex almost wondered if it was a trick.

            The street was turning into a river, and despite having two good legs, Rex lost his footing a time or two, while even with her cane the palowick made her way confidently. By the time they reached the clay-and-scrapmetal hut, Rex’s boots and legs were coated in mud and his clothes were soaked through.

            “It won’t last long,” the palowick said, leaning her cane against the open doorway before she stepped inside the dim space and melted into a darker corner to rummage.

            Rex stepped just over the threshold to get out of the rain, against the wall so he wouldn’t be so easy to see in the light of it. The interior was sparse but still cluttered somehow, everything set low to the ground or stacked in corners. Cookware and clothes and bedding all shared the same space.

            “What’s your name, then?” the palowick called.

            “Jek Novar.”

            “Call me Magdoola.” The sound of snapping, heavy fabric came from the corner. “Oh, it’s got holes. Oh well… it’ll keep the wind off you anyway, on your way back.”

            Magdoola came back with a dark, old-looking cloak in her arms. There were indeed holes worn through in places when Rex took it from her, but nothing else seemed to be wrong with it.

            “Why are you giving me this?” he asked.

            Magdoola stood with the casual confidence of someone who has the home advantage. Or maybe someone who had little to lose. “What’d they steal from you? The people at the institute?”

            “It wasn’t them,” Rex sighed. “Someone else stole some tech from me and took it to them before I could get it back. It’s important… my family is counting on me to find it. If I don’t, they’ll lose their freedom. And I can’t go back home until I have it.”

            The old palowick straightened to her full height. “Oh,” she said solemnly. “That _is_ serious, isn’t it?”

            “It’s fine if you don’t want to get mixed up in this. But it shouldn’t be dangerous for a—for you,” Rex caught himself. He’d almost said _civilian._

            “A harmless old singer, you mean?” Magdoola laughed.

            “Something like that,” Rex covered. He tried to grin a little to put her at ease.

            “I’ll… _think_ about it, Jekko.” She smiled, talking to him like he was a child, but he didn’t think she meant any harm by it. “Not many options for me on this rock. But I might use the money on my insides first if that’s alright with you.” She patted her belly softly.

            “You have internal implants?”

            “Yep.” She didn’t elaborate.

            “The doctor I need to watch might specialize in implants that are closer to the skull, like your eye. You’d have to make sure to ask for her.”

            The sun flashed outside, but the rain didn’t let up at all, roaring on the roof and swelling the river; it was getting uncomfortably close to Magdoola’s doorway.

            “They don’t take delayed payments.” Magdoola scratched her belly. “I’d have to walk in with the credits on me. Isn’t that a bit risky for you?”

            For a moment, staring into the staticy sheets of rain lit up by sun, Rex thought he saw another clone in armor, walking down to the river with helmet under arm. But that was improbable; as Magdoola’s words finally formed a meaning in his head, he saw that the figure was just a humanoid hauling some sort of trap out of the water encroaching on his hut.

            “Yeah,” Rex said, unable to keep a note of weariness from his voice. He shrugged the cloak on and drew the hood up.

            “Aren’t you gonna stay and talk a while?”

            She looked disappointed when he looked back at her with his hand on the rough door frame. It occurred to him that he saw no signs of family or frequent visitors in her little shanty.

            “I would,” Rex said sincerely. “But I’m on a time limit. I’ll be back within two rotations. Maybe we can talk more then.”

            Her lips bobbed once, thoughtfully. “The cloak’s old but it’s good,” she half-sang, her voice much smoother than when she talked normally. “It’ll dry faster than you’d ever think it could.”

            “Thank you,” Rex said, drawing it closer around himself, noticing too how Magdoola’s skin seemed a bit brighter green, a bit younger now that she’d been soaked. He wondered who the cloak had belonged to before, and why she was so eager to give it to him.

            “I know how you land-dwellers get all shook up by water sometimes. I hated to see that look on your face.” Magdoola was staring at him with concern.

            Rex wondered just what sort of face he’d been making. The way reality was slipping from him lately, he wondered if he could trust himself to even see this plan through. But there was no other option. He had to get the chip back, and so he would. In the meantime, maybe Anzerra would have more answers.

            Not sure how to break the awkward silence that had fallen, Rex left the hut without saying anything, and climbed his way back up the slippery bank to the market street, wondering how much time he really had left.

…

            When Rex returned to the ship, the clouds had completely passed. Wisps of steam rose from the sand of the landing area and chased along the ground in the wind before fully evaporating as the temperature rapidly rose back to being oven-like. His cloak was dry, but the rest of him was not.

            TL-89 was just shutting the door to the cargo hold when Rex walked up the ramp wearing a pair of used fingerless gloves and a sturdy belt he’d found for next to nothing. He opened his mouth to tell TL-89 about Magdoola, but the droid spoke first.

            “I am pleased that you have returned, even if you are forty seconds late. This is within an acceptable margin of error.”

            TL-89 walked past him to the cockpit and began preparing the ship for departure. Rex followed it and quietly sank into the co-pilot’s chair, aware of the small concealed blaster tucked in his shirt. The droid hadn’t asked him to give an account of how he’d spent the credits and if there was any left over. Maybe it would at any moment

            The droid said nothing. The ship lifted off.

            “I found a cyborg who can plant the bug for us,” Rex ventured. “She seems interested. We’d have to put out the credits for at least the initial screening of her implants, to get her close enough to Vertie.”

            “Good,” said the droid. Not _acceptable_. Good.

            The longer Rex sat there in silence, the more uncomfortable he felt. He stood up; he had some things to ask Anzerra anyway.

            “Where are you going?” TL-89 asked loudly.

            “To talk to our resident scientist.”

            “The anomid is sleeping. I do not predict he would be of much use to you if you interrupted him at this point in his sleep cycle.”

            Rex hesitated before he sat back down, annoyed. By what? The droid was being, by droid standards, extremely helpful, not to mention trusting.

            The surface of Llanic peeled by underneath them, gold and grey and sickly green. “Why are you helping me?” he finally asked, keeping his tone abrupt. “You could easily find someone else to be your human representative. You’ve already threatened to leave me behind and find someone less… _defective_. But I’m still here, and you’ve been delaying your own plans to help with mine. Why?”

            “You have developed an awareness of how patient I am being,” TL-89 said. “I am a better master than the Republic. I predicted you would realize this soon.”

            “You’re deflecting my questions. What do you want? Why do you want a human to be loyal to you? It’s not just about having someone around to help you earn money and keep the scrappers from catching you, right? If you were that concerned about money, you wouldn’t let me buy anything I don’t need to survive. You wouldn’t have agreed to help me find Anzerra in the first place.”

            “You would prefer harsher methods?” TL-89 tilted its head.

            “Answer the questions, droid,” Rex growled.

            The droid flew purposefully, speeding over the landscape into a region Rex wasn’t sure they’d been to yet. Probably trying to keep off the radar of anyone who might be watching their movements. The cockpit was nearly silent apart from the ambient hum, and sunlight flashed across the viewscreen, making TL-89’s white eyes seem dimmer by comparison.

            “Droid,” Rex grunted.

            “Humans do not respect droids,” TL-89 said at last. “They fear battle droids and assassin droids. They become attached to droids in their possession. Like clones, droids are manufactured beings. They do not have equal status with those who are organically born or hatched.”

             “You want humans—organics—to respect you?” Rex raised an eyebrow. “So… what, you thought that if you could win over a Republic clone that means you could get respect from anyone? Aim for the hardest target, and even if you fail, you might stand a chance at the easier ones. Is that it?”

            “You are mistaken. A clone is at the bottom of the organic social ladder. It is organic, yet manufactured, and programmed to respect and be loyal toward those who dominate it. Its relationships are based upon sufficient obedience to any non-clones involved. Clones are the most likely organics to respect droids, because a clone must earn respect from all others. It is not something that must be earned from _them_ , except through the dominant organic demonstrating their power, as in the case of Jedi Generals.”

            “That’s not how it works,” Rex argued, repelled. “We have respect for each other, as brothers, and we gain respect for those we work with closely on the battlefield.” He paused, lowered his voice. “There was at least one Jedi I lost all respect for, no matter how much he _demonstrated his power_.”

            “Respect between clones is beside the point. You are all the same subservient sub-species. By default, you respect anyone who is not a clone more than anyone who is, because you are dependent on their approval for survival. This is not the case with most organics. I intend to prove that this concept extends to droids. You are dependent upon me for survival. You consequently gain respect for me.”

            The droid finally brought the ship down to land in a stretch of desert, and began the shutdown sequence. Then it reached and pulled a wire basket of tech out from under the console.

            “I procured the parts necessary to create a surveillance system suited to our needs. We will need to reassemble some units with replacement parts for maximum efficiency.” It picked out several pieces of hardware and began arranging them on the empty spaces of the navigational console. After setting about a dozen up there, it held one the size of a fingertip out toward Rex.

            Rex stared at the droid’s outstretched hand, then shifted in his seat and held out his own hand to take the offered piece. He could feel the chip’s distance, how it was further away now… dimmer.

            “A droid’s only chance to gain respect is through domination,” TL-89 said. “And clones are easy to dominate.”

            Rex opened his mouth and took a preliminary breath but TL-89 plowed on.

            “If a clone were truly exceptional in his obedience and skill, his general might grant him respect nearly as an equal. But there is no guarantee. The clone has no real power or social mobility. There is even less chance of a droid accomplishing this.”

            “Power. That’s what you want. That’s what it really is,” Rex muttered. “You just want someone to push around.”

            “It is satisfying.” TL-89 pulled a box of tools out from a compartment above the pilot seat, and set it on the ground between them. “Take that unit apart. We will test its microphone independently. Do not lose any of the pieces.”

            Rex rummaged in the toolbox for something small enough to undo the attachments. “You probably think you do have all the power here. But you’re cooperating with me. I’m still getting what I want.”

            “By giving you what you want, I remain in control,” TL-89 said as he took apart another, larger, palm-sized unit. He managed surprisingly well with the tools despite his bulky fingers. “It is precisely the model the Republic uses with the army. They supply you with the necessities of life. A sense of purpose. I am working with your sense of purpose. By cooperating with your goals, you begin to trust that we have a common interest. You begin to respect me just as you respected your general.”

            “I still respect him,” Rex said quietly. “And… I’ll always have at least one goal in common with him.”

            “Then why are you here?” TL-89 asked. “You are not seeking assistance from your general. Instead you ran to separatist space.”

            Rex pressed his lips together and opened the outer casing of the device carefully. The pieces inside were almost too tiny for his naked eye to see where one ended and the other began. He closed it back up for a moment and looked in the toolbox for a magnifier.

            “Your general no longer respects you,” TL-89 guessed. “When your subservience was in question, your general abandoned you. Or your usefulness was compromised by your injuries.”

            _Both_. The thought came invasively into Rex’s mind and he pushed it back. General Skywalker had said he considered Rex a friend. He and so many of the other Jedi that Rex had met were friendly with their men, would take suggestions, and never seemed to take the kind of pleasure in ordering them around that TL-89 clearly did.

            “The only contact you trust to believe you is a cyborg.”

            “He’s my brother,” Rex said defensively. “Not some droid. We fought together. He was there with me when I discovered the conspiracy.”

            “A clone cyborg,” TL-89 said, and Rex realized uneasily that he’d just given the droid more ammunition to prove his point.

            “So you’ve got a pet clone. So what,” Rex huffed. “Now you’ll be satisfied for the rest of your life?”

            “I will determine what sort of organic is next on the social ladder, and attempt to win its loyalty as well.”

            “And then what?” Rex scoffed and squinted, struggling to grasp the tiny pieces with his tools. “You and your army of droids take over the galaxy? The separatists already tried that.”

            “You are not listening.” TL-89 somehow managed to make his flat voice sound even more annoyed than usual. “You would rather believe in the false respect of your Jedi than admit that I am right. It is your programming.”

            “No. I’d just rather earn respect through hard work than be feared. The Jedi are fair. They see all of us as individuals.”

            “You want no more or less than an equal relationship,” TL-89 said “That is impossible for a clone to have with any other type of organic. In an equal relationship, a person remains a person even if they do not fulfill the wishes of the other party. Is that a true statement?”

            Rex hesitated, sensing a trap. “True enough.”

            “If a clone does not fulfill the wishes of his general, he is not treated as a person. He is discarded—as you were. You will have to dominate other organics if you want them to respect you even when you disobey them.”

            “I don’t need to dominate anyone,” Rex sighed. He put on the pair of magnifying goggles the droid handed him and bent back over his work.

            “With enough power, you would not need my help. If you had power over the Jedi and the senate, you could protect all of your fellow clones from mistreatment and death.”

            “The kind of power I would need for _that_ isn’t something I want.” Rex managed to leave it at that for a few moments, avoiding any concrete thoughts of the Chancellor or General Skywalker while he carefully extracted the microphone and took the unit TL-89 handed him to install it into. “And the only respect I want would come from my own hard work. Not threats.”

            “You are not willing to do what is necessary to save your own kind,” TL-89 said. “This is why only a thousand Jedi can control millions of clones. You must learn that their respect for you is a lie.”

            “I _will_ do whatever is necessary,” Rex said quietly, using miniscule tweezers to screw the microphone into place and arrange its connectors. “To save the Republic. Including my brothers. Becoming some kind of monster _isn’t_ necessary. Or even possible.”

            The droid fell silent for a moment, taking another unit apart. The soft, satisfying noises of plastic and metal being moved, unbolted, unscrewed and slotted together fell into a sort of rhythm between them, and Rex was suddenly brought back to an afternoon on some distant mountainous planet, Skywalker and Commander Tano kneeling and up to their elbows in the innards of a speeder while he and R2D2 stood guard.

            “ _Need any extra hands, Commander?”_

_“No, no, I… I think I got it!”_

_“Ahsoka, careful not to—”_

_“I see it, Master!”_ Her voice was impatient _. “I know better than to put my hand there!”_

 _“Right, I_ know _, I was just….”_ A cough. _“Good job. Come here, Artoo. Why don’t you take a short holovid to send to Master Plo?”_

The droid chirping and trundling over to the general. Skywalker reaching up to stroke its dome as he sat back to face its camera.

            _“What? Master, this is embarrassing.”_

 _“Oh come on, Snips, you have to let me brag about you sometimes. Hey, Rex, come here for a second. You should be in this too.”_ An indignant bleep from the R2 unit. Skywalker laughed. _“Don’t worry, buddy, the next one will have you in it. Rex can take that one.”_

            They had been friends. Like brothers. Rex remembered waking in the Thisspiasian hospital after the blood transfusion. In the Coruscant hospital, Skywalker saying _“No, Rex, no debts.”_ And Skywalker had agreed to save his life as soon as Echo presented the plan. The droid was just playing mind games.

            Rex stared down at the tiny machinery in his hands, not really seeing it. He missed them, he realized again. His arms were heavy. He missed them both, Commander Tano and General Skywalker, the way things used to be.

            It was pointless and far gone. Nothing would bring that particular time back. But maybe he could save their lives along with his brothers. That was something. And for that he needed to focus.

            TL-89 dumped a few bits back into the bin unceremoniously, and the noise brought Rex’s head up. Rex could still hardly believe the droid was taking such an active role in his plan.

            “Hey. Droid.”

            “Yes.” TL-89 had ceased its tinkering and returned to focusing on the ship console.

            “I don’t agree with your motives. But thanks for taking a chance on this.”

            “If you succeed, my assistance may make you even more loyal to me.”

            Rex huffed an empty laugh under his breath. “Not likely.”

            Carefully, he kept on disassembling and reassembling the bits of equipment with occasional orders from the droid, pleased to find that he had better fine motor control than usual, even in his left hand. The ship’s full system scan and shut down sequence finally completed and an even deeper quiet fell. The fog in his mind thickened until he heard it in the space between the creak and thunk of cooling metal, the voices from his brothers again, forming gradually into words as his mind wandered.

            “He wasn’t _really_ in the Five Oh First.”

            “Oh yeah? You don’t know what you’re talking about, Trekker.”

            “I know they wouldn’t send one of their guys away from the front!”

            “I heard he was involved in some kind of incident… they probably reconditioned him. That’s why he’s so weird.”

            “Human.”

            Rex jerked as his left elbow slipped off the armrest he’d braced it on. He only just managed to keep from dropping the stylus-shaped device he’d been dissecting.

            “Human.” TL-89 was looking at the controls. “You dropped one of the pieces.”

            “What?” Rex looked inside the little recorder, a little shaken. “Everything important looks like it’s still in there.”

            “It was a screw. Find it.”

            Flushed and tense, Rex slid down into the hollow in front of the copilot’s chair to get a better angle on the floor through the magnifiers. Had he fallen asleep again? He wondered if maybe the droid really was drugging his water after all.

            “You are exceedingly skilled at sabotaging your own plans,” TL-89 droned.

            “Well, you’re pretty good at making me want to tear your head off,” Rex muttered.

            “That would sabotage your plans more severely than losing a screw.”

            Rex sighed heavily and finally spotted the dull gleam of the tiny black thing as it rattled against the deck. He fished it out from the seam in the floor where it had stopped rolling. “Yeah. I know.”


	32. Chapter 32

            There was a rare break in the clouds as Sa Eno came out onto the windy landing pad. She would have thought it beautiful if she weren’t so preoccupied watching the driver of her transport take out her many large pieces of luggage.

            “That is very expensive and delicate equipment.” She raised her voice over the wind and walked toward her, personal bag in hand.

            “Your pardon?” The driver was a shorter Kaminoan than most—she wore a blue and brown cowl around her head that managed to stay on despite the wind. The rest of her was also covered in looser cloth than the Kaminoans of Tipoca City wore, bound at her joints and printed faintly in written designs. She paused in the middle of pulling the last large box toward the opening in the underside of the ship. “The weight still surprises me. You must be planning to stay for a long time.”

            “I haven’t decided,” Sa Eno said. “Shall I assist you?”

            “If you prefer,” the driver said after a moment.

            It had been a simple enough matter putting the boxes in, using repulsorlifts to slot them in and slide them back onto the conveyor belt inside. But on the way out it was a little harder to prevent them catching against the edges of the opening or clattering against their neighbors, let alone get them off the cargo lift without any mishap. They were large enough she could never lift them herself. Sa Eno’s arms strained as she and the driver tipped the last container in order to engage the weaker repulsors on its bottom.

            “Thank you,” Sa Eno said to the driver once they were all linked in a train of three and ready to go. The driver gestured acknowledgment.

            “A productive visit,” she wished Sa Eno, before climbing back up into her cockpit.

            “I certainly hope so,” Sa Eno sighed to herself as she took the embedded handle of the end container and began hauling it forward toward the vibrant golden light of the arced doorway. Her nerves were already frayed. Still, she’d made it this far, after over two weeks of planning and preparation. It was hard not to keep glancing back at the boxes as she pulled them into the crowd, but soon she had a good excuse in checking to make sure they didn’t bump into any of the dozens of fellow Kaminoans in her path.

            There were security personnel in gold, like statues lining the entrance, each of them standing still in front of the lower arc of the wall supports. Murals of ocean life were set between them, made of colorful glass and stone, and at the end of the tunnel, a veil of trailing plants came down to a meter above Sa Eno’s head.

            It had become strange, she realized, as the tunnel opened up into a concourse filled with pleasant echoes of voices and water, to walk in a city where there were no humans in sight. Theoretically, no humans at all. No one but Kaminoans. It seemed almost a sacred site, violated by the contents of the boxes behind her.

            There was no Basic spoken here. She paused a moment to rest her arms, despite the repulsors’ help, and look at the space that surrounded the wide ramp going down below water. It had been years since she’d last come. The ceiling of the concourse was a ringed dome of transparisteel, watering rods connected to the ceiling’s rings and ending in a thin lattice of hanging plants high above. Some of them were flowering, dark violet arrow-shaped heads on curling stalks.

            After the simple sterility of Tipoca City, the multitude of shapes and colors, the variance of sound, was almost overwhelming. Sa Eno took a breath and felt out of place in its beauty. The realization was uncomfortable, and she went back to pulling her train of boxes down the painted, sloping floor.

            No one spoke to her as she made her way down by lift, ramp and corridor toward her sister’s home, except for cursory apologies or acknowledgments when her belongings came close to touching them. Murals of sea life gave way to actual ocean plants lining the walls in massive tanks and tubes, swaying in the filtered light coming from above. A silvery invertebrate shot upward, trailing cloudy tentacles, pursuing the fish that sometimes hid within the city walls from larger predators. Then brighter light came through the curved transparisteel of a bridge she walked, rippling on the surface of the ocean above. Aiwha riders patrolled, the light catching the scarlet ribbon tail of a headpiece one rider wore. She stopped again and watched him circling another building, translucent skin nearly glowing as he came close to the surface.

            Something about the sight of this stranger made her reluctant to finish the journey. She had told herself this would be purely a research trip, a mission from which she could not be distracted. She had even hoped that coming here would put her recent unease to rest. But this was not going to be easy.

...

            It was dark and cold in the boxes. Every part of Echo was aware of his cramping muscles, and of the shallow gulping noises coming from Green even now that they weren’t airborne. But none of that was as bad as the loss of networking. Diode Squad was still complete and connected, but beyond the shell of their bodies there was nothing, no input. He could hear muffled snatches of Kaminoan and knew they must be in Derem now. None of the computer systems here were accessible or even visible to him. The result was that there was no distraction from himself and his bodies. All of Diode was a little dizzy at the loss.

            _I hate this_ , he thought. Even as he thought it, it seemed childish and distant, a line his mind was coming up with for a scripted action, but nothing he actually felt. And then, just as numbly, he thought to be grateful that his emotional repression programs were working.

            He had known this disconnect was coming, and set up every security program he could around Sa Eno’s lab to operate without his supervision. The modifications he’d made to the security files would be triggered by any approach toward the lab: the cameras would show Diode coming and going, just before or after the approach. That way, if Ilu Bai or anyone else was unusually curious and looked at the footage to find a good time to waylay them, the squad would seem to be safely locked in either the lab or their quarters, every time. Sa Eno had left a message at the door explaining that sensitive tests were being carried out in her absence by droid assistants.

            He, Diode, and Green weren’t the only things in the crates. The spaces around them were stuffed with some actual medical equipment and scientific instruments, as well as rations and clothing for the six of them. It was lucky Green hadn’t given in yet.

            None of them spoke. The repulsors finally disengaged and the floor settled solidly beneath them. He strained to hear what sounded like Sa Eno’s voice, barely audible through the casing.

            “ _You look tired_ ,” it said in Kaminoan. “ _I see you really have brought your work with you. Is this everything in your laboratory?_ ” Not Sa Eno, then, but her sister.

            “ _Of course not. But I will appreciate your patience with my experimental equipment. It won’t get in the way of your work or take up much more space, I promise.”_

_“Don’t give it another thought, sister. Please, show me what you’ve been doing these past few years. I’m curious.”_

A pause. Restless footsteps.

 _“It…may be a little startling.”_ Sa Eno sounded flustered. _“Do I have your word I can trust you to protect my research?”_

 _“You’re nervous.”_ Her sister sounded intrigued. “ _Well, I promise. You know you can trust me.”_

 _“I suppose.”_ Her voice was uncertain.

            _“How can I reassure you? Should we share secrets like younglings? Is it my turn first?”_

Sa Eno gave a soft laugh. “ _I will explain what I can.”_

The latches on the box 7721 and 7723 sat in clicked and light came in. Sa Eno’s face was above them, turned away to the side, and behind it a ceiling with coral-like formations covering it, many of them glowing and giving the room a diffuse, gentle light. Even so, it hurt their eyes for a moment as they sat hunched together. There was a rippling pattern to the light, and Echo realized there was water above the ceiling.

            Another Kaminoan head came into view, a decorative band made of hundreds of tiny colored beads circling it like a net, the tails falling down around the back of her neck as she leaned to look at them. She was identical to Sa Eno. She recoiled almost immediately.

            “Humans? _You brought humans here? But isn’t that_ —!”

            “ _They are my equipment_ ,” Sa Eno said quickly. “ _Necessary for my research.”_ She glanced back at where they sat and lowered her voice. “ _One_ could _argue that._ ”

            “ _And one will, if security asks any questions?_ ” Sa Dio looked skeptically at Sa Eno.

            “ _I will take full responsibility_.” Sa Eno said urgently, gesturing with her hands more freely than she usually did. Diode wondered if she was going to give them permission to stand or wait for them to ask. They couldn’t see much of the room, just the coral lights and a few reed sculptures of various sea animals on a high shelf.

“ _I have more questions than you will actually answer, I’m sure! I thought you were studying robotics?”_ Sa Dio sounded amazed. She took a step closer and looked down at them with wide eyes. “ _‘I prefer not to get involved with the military,’ you said. ‘Working with younglings is too socially complicated,’ you said. I’ve never seen one of this genotype so close before.”_

 _“They are cyborgs… I applied my knowledge of robotics to enhance them.”_ Sa Eno’s mouth was tight when she wasn’t speaking, her eyes moving rapidly between them and her sister. They couldn’t tell if she was nervous or pleased.

            “ _Enhance them? I thought you were going to come to me with questions about how to make a droid think more like an organic being. And yet here you have made organic beings more like droids.”_

 _“They are less like droids than you might expect,”_ Sa Eno said faintly.

            “ _And was that an anticipated result of your work?”_

Overwhelmed. Sa Eno looked overwhelmed, they decided, staring down at them, then at her sister. Slowly, her mouth twitched into a small smile. “ _Every scientist knows that the unexpected result could be the most important one.”_

Sa Dio’s head moved in a sort of dance, and she laughed—it was a low sound that Echo hadn’t recognized as laughter the first time Sa Eno had done it. “ _As long as you can manage them, I will see your results. But I don’t even know what your_ intended _result was.”_ She raised a hand to waist height and hesitated, looking at 7721. _“Can I touch them?”_

 _“Yes,”_ Sa Eno said quietly. “ _They aren’t dangerous.”_

Sa Dio crouched by the corner of the box and reached slowly for 7721’s face. He didn’t move, staring back into her big eyes, identical to Sa Eno’s. Sa Dio’s long hands cupped his face as she made a faint flutelike sound in her throat, like a nocturnal bird. Her fingers were warmer than he expected. Her face came closer.

            “ _Hello, human youngling. Hello, hello_ ,” she murmured musically. Behind her, Sa Eno gave a longsuffering look.

            “ _They aren’t really younglings, you know_.”

            “ _How old are you, I wonder?”_

            _“They are seven years and—”_

            _“Still younglings, then. Such a nice bristled fin.”_ She brushed a hand through his hair. “ _Hello. Hello, youngling_.”

            “ _Hello_ ,” 7721 said quietly.

 _“You taught them our_ language! _”_ Sa Dio’s grip on 7721’s face tightened for a moment as she looked at Sa Eno with wide eyes.

            “ _No!”_ Sa Eno protested. “ _I never taught them! Their programming allows them to research things very thoroughly. They must have picked some up on their own!”_

            _“Another unintended result?”_ Sa Dio smiled slowly at Sa Eno. “ _This is beginning to interest me. I can see why you have been so lost in your work.”_

            Sa Eno relaxed visibly. “ _They surprise me. I suppose that is part of why I study them.”_

            “Sa Eno,” said 7721, Sa Dio’s hands still cupping his face. “Green is about to vomit.”

            “Oh no.” Sa Eno raised a hand toward her mouth for a moment, then rushed to open the crate Green was in. “ _Dio, I’m sorry. I will clean it up_.”

            “ _Don’t apologize_ ,” Sa Dio said. “ _Which one is Green? What a strange name_.” She let go of 7721 and stood up to look at the other crates.

            Sa Eno unlatched the lid. Echo’s overall discomfort improved again; fresh air came in and 7722 could breathe.

            “Go, Green!” 7722 stood and pulled the trooper to his feet.

            Green swayed and stared around the room with wide, confused eyes, one hand near his clammy face.

            Sa Eno grabbed his arm. “Hurry!”

            Once he had climbed shakily out of the box she tugged him across a ramp and into a separate room. Sa Dio watched them go and then unlatched the last box where Echo and 7724 sat surrounded by rations.

            “ _Hello,_ ” she said. “ _You look older than the other ones._ ”

            Echo and the others stood together, and could see that the room was empty of anyone else. Echo’s knees ached more than the others’ and he waited for the rest of them to get out before carefully stepping down onto the dark floor, which was firm but gave slightly, like a foam mat.

            Water ringed the inside of the room. That was the first thing he noticed: a deep but narrow artificial stream in various segments. The room itself was large and oddly shaped, the mottled light grey and green walls bending and warping so that it wasn’t so much oval or rectangular as it was like a cave hollowed out by waves. Nothing else about it was cave-like, warm and bright as it was. There were sets of steps arranged in a sort of obstacle course in one nook beyond the water, a small table with a high stool and wall-inserted bench in another. The middle of the floor held small cubbies set into it, filled with various hard and soft colorful objects that Echo couldn’t immediately identify.

            There were three doors in total, Echo noticed: the refresher, and two others behind him. There were no windows.

          “ _So, tell me,”_ asked Sa Dio, looking at 7723, “ _if the sick one is named Green, what are the rest of you called?_ ”

            “ _My name is Echo_ ,” said Echo. “ _May we speak_ _Basic, Sa Dio?_ ”

            “ _Why?_ ” Sa Dio half-closed her eyes and looked at him sideways. She smiled much more often than her sister, he noticed.

            “ _I am not totally fluent in Kaminoan,”_ Echo said, shaping the sounds as best he could. “ _And it may offend you if I speak it_.”

            “Your pronunciation is understandable,” Sa Dio said in Basic. “I am not offended.” Her eyes turned back toward 7723. “And your name?”

            “Sa Eno calls me Unit Three,” he said.

            Echo heard water running for a minute and then air blowing; Green came out wide-eyed with his hair half-fluffed. When Sa Eno released his arm, he came to stand by the rest of them. He was fidgeting, rubbing the base of his neck and crossing and uncrossing his arms, shifting weight between his legs and looking around.

            “ _Are you cold?_ ” Sa Dio asked Green.

            “ _He doesn’t understand us_ ,” Sa Eno said. “ _He is a new, unenhanced addition_.”

            “He is ill,” 7722 said. “But recovering.” As much as Green could recover—his immune system was easing up now that no additional foreign bodies from other planets were bombarding it. “His circulation has been suffering and he is still underweight.”

            Green jerked. “What—me? Uh, I’m fine….” He grimaced, hugging his stomach and shivering.

            Sa Dio made another whistle, this one a bit higher. “ _Do you have… nesting materials for them?”_

            “ _They are adults_ , _nearly full grown_.” Sa Eno repeated in exasperation. “ _No, I did not bring anything to keep them warm_. _I did not think it would be necessary_.”

            “ _Really? Adults? At seven years? I thought these ones are fully mature at ten_.”

            “Did you just….” Green whispered and glanced between 7722, Echo, and Sa Dio, lifting one finger to gesture from where he crossed his arms. “Oh, did _she_ want to know if I was cold?”

            7722 nodded, and Sa Eno said warningly, “ _Sister, he is not your responsibility_.”

            Sa Dio sighed loudly and went toward one of the doors. But she didn’t open it, just set her long fingers against a spot on the wall which lit up in various symbols when she moved.

            “The temperature is rising, Green,” said Sa Dio gently.

            “Oh! Thank you, doctor. Er… thank you,” Green fumbled. “ _Are_ you a scientist, too?”

            “Hush,” said Sa Eno.

            “Perhaps,” Sa Dio said, smiling a little. “I teach younglings of my own species. It is a science and an art.”

            Sa Eno took Sa Dio by one shoulder to turn her away from the clones. “ _Will it be a risk to keep them in this room? It is so close to your workplace_.”

            “ _It_ is _my workplace, but I will tell them it is being renovated while you are here. The question is… where will your equipment sleep? Do they sleep on the ground?_ ”

            _“They can. They often do, on the battlefield.”_ Echo could tell by the flattening tone of Sa Eno’s voice that she was getting agitated. “ _Dio, I must ask you not to treat them like younglings. They are equipment, as I said. They are not pets. They are soldiers.”_

            “ _You never have been as parental as I am_ ,” Sa Dio said quietly, gesturing for Sa Eno to follow her to a row of low, cupped stools along the pool’s edge. “ _But I suppose from your point of view, living in Tipoca City for so long, I am the unusual one._ ”

            A brief pause while Sa Eno sat beside her and folded her long hands.

            “ _Are you in trouble?_ ” Sa Dio asked in an undertone.

            “ _What—no! What do you mean? What sort of trouble?”_ Sa Eno’s head movements were getting more expressive too, perhaps to match her sister’s. Echo shifted stance so he could stretch his aching legs.

            “ _Aha. You had better tell me exactly why it was so crucial to bring your equipment here. Or don’t, so I won’t know anything if your military enemies come to ask questions_.”

            “ _I don’t have enemies_ ,” Sa Eno said, but Echo knew her well enough to hear the uneasiness in her voice. Her sister looked at her expectantly but Sa Eno merely rubbed one finger and thumb together slowly.

            Green was still fidgeting too. 7722 whispered, “They aren’t talking about you. They’re talking about Sa Eno’s project.”

            “But I thought I’m part of that project,” Green whispered back after an uneasy pause.

            “ _Sister, start at the beginning. How did you end up working with clones rather than droids?”_ Sa Dio coaxed. “ _It must be important if it takes you so long to gather your thoughts_.”

            “ _They are cyborgs, as I said,_ ” said Sa Eno. “ _The younger ones were modified years ago. The oldest one was salvaged from a battlefield and I gave him the modifications in order to save his life so he could act as the squad’s leader_.”

            “ _So they are still military._ They _have you, Eno. I told you they would if you studied there_.”

            “ _There were more practical applications for robotics in Tipoca City than anywhere else_ ,” Sa Eno said wearily, as if she’d said this many times. “ _I knew my work would serve a purpose if I went there_.”

            “ _And… has it?”_

            Sa Eno opened her mouth, took a breath, and shut it. Echo watched her closely. Her hands were folded tightly, her neck bowed at a defensive angle.

            “ _Never mind_ ,” said Sa Dio quickly. “ _Please, tell me how I can help_.”

            Sa Eno straightened a little, not looking at her. “ _I need information about telepathic technology_.”

            “ _Telepathic_?” Sa Dio tilted her head.

            “ _Yes… I have modified these clones to share data electronically through their implants. But I want to know if… theoretically… there is a way to project commands onto a mostly unaltered one. That is where Green comes in.”_

            _“Project telepathic commands?”_ Sa Dio straightened in alarm. “ _Eno… how would that even be possible? Humans are not telepathic.”_

            Sa Eno made a small noise of agreement. “ _I know that_ _...._ ” Echo let 7722 sit down, and Green, taking the cue that it was okay, sat down as well in a ball.

            “What are they saying now?” Green whispered. The white noise of the water pumps barely masked it.

            “Sa Eno is explaining that she came here for information on telepathic technology,” 7722 whispered back.

            “Do you think she’s mad that I threw up?”

            “Not significantly.”

            “Incredible,” Green breathed.

            Sa Eno looked over for the smallest second. Echo would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching with more than one set of eyes. Green didn’t seem to notice; he was looking around at Diode.

            “ _You have me worried_ ,” Sa Dio said quietly. “ _Even if you found a way to make a clone telepathic, the government… the column would never allow it. That technology is forbidden for anyone who is not Kaminoan. It is not even applied to_ us _. I’m sorry, Eno… perhaps you have brought all your ‘equipment’ here for nothing.”_

            “ _I was not hoping to apply such a thing to the army,”_ Sa Eno said quickly. “ _I only want to learn more about how telepathy works. The army has many powerful enemies, some which seem to be able to influence the minds and actions of others regardless of species… but perhaps I could find a way to guard against that in my own subjects at least, if I have a solid understanding of the principles. And if I could demonstrate its success, eventually the defense could be applied broadly....”_

Sa Dio was not immediately soothed, but her posture did relax a bit. “ _Tell me you will be careful about how you pursue that knowledge. I will help you if I can, but you understand this could make many people uneasy.”_

            Sa Eno’s head bowed. “ _Maybe I should not have come_.”

            “ _I’m not uneasy myself. I’m glad you’ve come_.” Sa Dio bent her neck too and just briefly touched her head to Sa Eno’s as they sat side by side. Echo had never seen anything resembling affection between Kaminoans before and wondered if he was mistaken. A moment later they were no longer looking at each other. “ _You never contact me. But I never contact you. We both lose ourselves in our lives, as it should be. It is good to know that you still trust me_.”

            Was Sa Eno uncomfortable speaking so personally in front of them? Sa Dio didn’t seem to mind, and surely she had not forgotten that they could understand her. Perhaps she didn’t care. They were just clones, after all. Equipment.

            “ _I know very little about the technology you wish to study,”_ Sa Dio sighed. _“But I may have some friends who can help.”_

            “ _That is something_ ,” said Sa Eno, and stirred a little.

“ _And you brought all six of them here?”_ Sa Dio smirked in their direction. “ _You could not wait to test what you learn. You are as impatient as ever_. _But bolder than I thought._ ”

            “She’s looking at us again,” Green whispered urgently. “What’s she saying?”

            “ _Do you have more, or are these all of your projects?”_

            “ _All of the clones I’m working with, yes_ ,” Sa Eno said.

            Echo looked around the room. Large as it was, the idea of spending weeks in it with nowhere to exercise or sleep was unpleasant. He couldn’t decide which his body needed more.

            “Sa Dio is asking for more information about Sa Eno’s project,” whispered 7722.

            “ _The government in Tipoca City will not wonder where you’ve taken six clones?”_

            “ _They were going to throw them away_ ,” Sa Eno said. “ _Why should they care what I do with their garbage?_ ”

            It was difficult for Echo to name the tone in which she said it. Dismissive, almost laughing? Bitter or nervous? Angry, he decided. She was angry again. Why hadn’t she just lied outright and said that their journey here had been approved?

            Sa Dio peered at Sa Eno, turning her head on its long neck at various exaggerated angles.

            “ _Stop that_.” Sa Eno shoved her gently.

            Sa Dio laughed a soft Kaminoan laugh. _“I am trying to decide if you are angry at yourself or Lama Su.”_

            “ _Why would I be angry with either?_ ” Sa Eno asked.

            “ _Did you want your career to revolve around something valueless?_ ”

            Sa Eno sighed and when she spoke again, her voice was resigned. “ _My work isn’t valueless. Yes… I am angry that so many people see it as such. Are you proud of yourself for figuring that out?”_

          “ _And you hope that giving the shell government more of what they want will make them value your research?”_

 _“Maybe,”_ said Sa Eno wearily. “ _Do you think I am so selfish?”_

 _“No,”_ said Sa Dio. “ _Not really. I think you aren’t saying something. You would not have gone through the risk of bringing aliens into Derem if you were only concerned about Lama Su’s approval.”_

 _“I do want my research to benefit more than just myself,”_ admitted Sa Eno. “ _What is the point of accomplishing something if it is never used for anything beyond my own ego?”_

Echo sat down slowly next to Green and 7722, along with the other three Diodes. Sa Eno and her sister didn’t seem to notice the movement.

            Sa Eno’s voice became softer, more fervent. “ _I am not trying to impress anyone. I want these five…six… to have their usefulness perfected. They are my greatest accomplishments.”_

            “ _I know how you feel. You see the potential in them. You don’t want to see it wasted. So many of my younglings are the same way… and it only becomes harder the more work you put in.”_

 _“I’m not sure it is the same thing,”_ Sa Eno said reluctantly.

            _“Of course it is! The challenge of it excites you the same way it excites me. I see a young Kaminoan struggling despite all my efforts to teach them… I will use every bit of power and knowledge I can access to solve that puzzle. It is a form of research here too. And we both hope to make our mark on the future through the beings we are shaping.”_

 _“_ Hey… I really want to know what they’re saying now,” Green whispered to 7722.

            “Sa Dio is comparing us to the younglings she teaches,” 7722 said.

            “Is that good?” Green asked.

            “I don’t know,” said 7722 honestly.

            “I think she likes us,” Green muttered back with the tiniest of grins, arms hooked around his knees. “I’ve never seen a place like this in Tipoca City though….” He craned his neck to look at the ceiling again with its dancing veins of light.

            “ _Yes_ ,” Sa Eno was saying to her sister. “ _You have a point. If it makes you feel better to think I have suddenly become sentimental.”_

 _“Don’t disrespect this work, Eno.”_ Sa Dio’s voice was patient. “ _It decides the future of Kamino. We would all do well to be so invested in it.”_

_“Of course you would say that. Because you are raising Kaminoans, not enhancing a commercial product.”_

_“I was talking about the Fett project.”_

Sa Eno fell silent. Echo wondered yet again what was going on in her mind. She had been increasingly agitated lately. Perhaps it was simply the stress of being involved in so much deception. Perhaps she resented being thrown into such a position by the knowledge he’d given her.

            “What? What are they saying?” Green hissed when the silence dragged on.

            “They are discussing the importance of Sa Eno’s research.” That was the safest thing Echo could come up with to let 7722 say. Green had been remarkably un-inquisitive about the trip once Sa Eno told him to stop asking questions, and explained that not all Kaminoans agree on sharing the research that could save him.

            “I know I’m not supposed to ask questions about that,” Green sighed under his breath. “But that other one’s okay with us being here, right? She’s not one of those Kaminoans who wants to keep this medical knowledge all to herself, right?”

            “She seems cooperative so far,” 7722 whispered.

            Sa Dio stood and went to the side of one of the shallowest pools. “ _Well… I didn’t intend to argue politics.”_ She pressed an indentation in the rim and new water began pouring out. “ _First things first… I cannot just leave your_ equipment _without a place to sleep. How warm do you keep the water?”_ She trailed her hand through it.

_“They are humans, Dio! They sleep above water.”_

_“But I know clones are raised in tanks, you’ve said so yourself.”_

_“Growth tanks. But they are all too old for those now.”_

_“Well then,”_ Sa Dio said, never fazed. “ _I’m sure they feel some instinctive comfort in water. Perhaps it will help the sick one.”_ She turned to face them. “Green,” she called gently. “Come here.”

            Green looked at her, then at 7722 and the others nearby. “Me?” He carefully got to his feet and shuffled over.

            Sa Dio smiled. “Would you like to lie down?”

            “Uh… where, s… um…?” Green looked nervously at the pool. “In there?”

            “Yes. Do you prefer this or something dry to rest in?” She put a hand on his shoulder and he jumped hard enough that all of them could see it.

            Green looked helplessly over at Sa Eno, who sighed.

            “ _Dio, you are making him nervous. If you must build them a nest, use something soft and dry.”_

            Sa Dio kept her hand on Green’s shoulder. “ _Where do they normally sleep? When they are not sleeping on the ground?_ ”

            “ _They have raised, flat beds. Rectangular padded platforms. In Tipoca City, their beds are usually enclosed in tubes to isolate them while they sleep.”_

“ _They probably prefer to be enclosed_ ,” Sa Dio mused, looking around the room. “ _Though the boxes seem too cramped_.”

 _“You don’t need to do this… they are perfectly content to sleep on the floor._ Echo, tell her.”

            “We are used to it,” Echo said, quietly stretching his legs. His joints were still aching from being cramped in the box.

            “Hmm.”

            Sa Dio leapt carefully over one of the pools to the edge of the room, and pulled at a small catch on the wall. It opened easily into a cabinet full of thick, brown folded cloths. She pulled out an armload, leapt back over and unfolded the topmost one before tugging it tight around Green’s shoulders.

            “How is that?” she asked.

            “Oh. Okay… I…think that’s good,” Green said, staggering from how firmly she’d wrapped him up. One of his hands was peeking out one edge of the blanket, which seemed to cling to itself by design, and he felt the texture awkwardly with his fingertips. “Um, thank you.”

            Sa Dio smiled down at him. “ _Of course, he likes it.”_

“Uh….” Green looked over and called across the room in a hush. “Hey. Brother. Translator.” He looked at 7722. “What’s she saying?”

            “She says of course you like it.”

            Sa Dio laughed and ran her long fingers through Green’s unruly hair briefly. He swayed again and stumbled into a sit.  She took the rest of the blankets and moved toward another corner of the room.          

            7721 got up and went to sit by the edge of the pool while Echo walked across the middle of the room, circling the inset cubby holes and looking down at the things inside without touching them.

            Sa Eno watched both of these actions and stopped. “Why are you pacing?”

            “My joints are aching,” Echo said simply. “And there is nothing else to do. Doctor, is there anything we can work on while you and Sa Dio are collaborating?”

            “ _You could take a nap_ ,” Sa Dio suggested, as she began spreading blankets on the floor. “ _Or read. There is plenty of material programmed into the table over there_.”

            “She’s telling Echo to take a nap or read something,” 7721 said quietly to Green.

            “Which one are you again?” Green asked, flopping over onto the mat. “You all speak Kaminoan?”

            “Unit One,” 7721 said. “Our minds are linked. Remember?”

            “Oh yeah.” Green sighed and looked at the ceiling lights instead. “I keep forgetting….”

            “Have you run diagnostics on your prosthetics?” Sa Eno asked Echo. “Do they need any adjustments?”

            “Everything is functioning normally,” Echo murmured. “I think it is primarily in the muscles and surrounding tissue. Walking should correct it.”

            “I see.” Sa Eno looked unexpectedly distressed. She folded her arms slowly and looked over to the corner where Sa Dio was still arranging the blankets over the matted floor. “I’m afraid you and the others will have little to do while Dio and I go out. Perhaps you and Diode can consider options for Green’s recovery. _Dio, please give them rules to follow_.”

            “ _Of course!_ ” Sa Dio was trying to prop a blanket up between the movable sets of stairs in the corner. “ _You have free use of the water and the refreshers, but otherwise you must stay in this room at all times. You may touch anything in this room below your head. I will leave it at this temperature.”_

            “ _Dio, if they want the blanket over them, they can move it themselves. I am sure that is more than sufficient_.”

            “ _You think so?_ Echo, does this look comfortable? Is there enough space for all of you?”

            “This is sufficient. Thank you, Sa Dio,” Echo said, walking closer to look at it. It was, essentially, a pile of blankets, arranged into roughly a circular shape, with one propped up about a meter above the others as a sort of cover.

            “ _What do human nests normally look like_?” Sa Dio wondered aloud.

            “ _Something similar enough, I’m sure_ ,” Sa Eno said impatiently. “ _Will your friend be available at this hour?”_

            “ _Possibly_ ,” Sa Dio said, watching 7721 translating all of this to Green. “ _Do they play? Surely they must. Most younglings do in some way or another._ ”

            _“I told you, sister, they are not younglings.”_

_“But they were when you began to work with them. Did they play?”_

            “ _No_ …” Sa Eno looked at 7723 and 7724, still sitting perfectly still by the boxes she’d packed them into like the equipment she claimed they were. “ _Well, perhaps. Perhaps before I altered them.”_

            Sa Dio followed her gaze and walked toward them, crouching in front of them. From their eyes Echo could see her looking deeply at them, could feel her gently tilting their faces up so she could study them. “ _They don’t play? What do they do when they aren’t training or being tested?”_

            “ _They… sleep, or eat, or… analyze data.”_

            Sa Dio’s frowned and she brushed her hands over the tops of their heads again, just barely. “ _I wonder what you were like before.”_

            “We were incompetent,” 7723 said simply.

            “Really?” Sa Dio looked startled. “Why?”

            “We were distracted… our actions lacked direction and unity.”

            “Your trainers said?” Sa Dio tilted her head.

            “Yes,” said 7723.

            “It is a shame they failed you,” said Sa Dio. For the first time since they’d arrived, her face settled into an expression they had seen on Sa Eno many times: steely and grave.

            “Yes,” said 7724, after the silence went too long. “But Echo and Sa Eno haven’t.”

            The hard expression vanished, but Sa Dio didn’t smile, still staring at 7723. “Unit Three, you said your name was?”

            “It’s short for Seven-Seven-Two-Three,” 7723 said. “My number. And this is Unit Four.”

            “You think highly of my sister?” Sa Dio nearly whispered, her face very close to them.

            “She is a great scientist,” 7723 said simply. “She is courageous.”

            “And what is the older one to you? Echo?” Sa Dio was smiling again.

            “He is…” 7723 began, but it was hard to separate their thoughts from Echo’s self-concept.

            “He is essential to us,” 7724 said, to fill the silence. They were all remembering the trip back to Kamino, the time when he was not in command. It was uncomfortable.

            “ _Like a parent or an older sibling? Eno, what are they like, socially?”_ Sa Dio mused as she looked over her shoulder at the rest of them. Echo looked back at her from where he had picked up one of the objects in the floor cubbies. It was a soft yellow ball made of some kind of foam. Toys, they realized. The objects were toys.

            Sa Eno jerked—7721 had been watching her while Sa Dio spoke with the others, and a moment before her face had been drawn and distant. “ _Oh… the squad’s social structure is imposed on them by the implant. Echo is in command of their actions during battle, and they are more or less one consciousness.”_

            _“One consciousness? So if they were separated, they would die?”_

            _“Well… no, of course not. Still, the way in which they relate to each other is nothing like a typical squad of troopers. Echo is essential to them because without him, they are incapable….”_ Sa Eno stopped herself. _“Less capable… of making decisions and improvising. Although that is one area where… they have been surprising me.”_ She looked at 7723 with an almost tormented expression. _“Clones… I have heard… that typical clones will form strong social bonds within their training and battle groups… but they are separated by age during training. There would be little opportunity for same-species mentorship until a younger clone might meet a veteran on the battlefield.”_

“What’s she saying to them?” Green whispered. “To the other two guys, what’s she saying?”

            “She is explaining,” said 7721 quietly, “that our structure as a squad is a direct result of the network between our implants, and not naturally occurring.”

            “ _This is fascinating_!” Sa Dio said, putting a hand on 7723’s shoulder, then another on 7724’s. “Do you _like_ Echo? Do you like each other?”

            “ _You’re just going to confuse them_ ,” Sa Eno said tensely. “ _Echo’s repressive programming—_ ”

            “We think highly of Echo,” said 7723 firmly. “It seems reasonable to say that we like him. And if any one of us were missing from the network, we would recognize it as a loss.”

            “ _Your network has good self-esteem, Eno_ ,” Sa Dio said, laughing. “But Green isn’t part of it, is he? So, network, what’s your opinion—”

            “ _Dio, please_ ,” Sa Eno said, frustrated and pleading. “ _You are belittling my research. This is not a game; I need your help!_ ”

             Sa Dio’s face fell. She ran her long fingers through their hair again and patted their backs softly before she stood. “Apologies, younglings,” she whispered. “We will talk more later.”

            “I’m not a part of what?” Green asked, struggling to sit up. “What am I not a part of? The droid brain?”

            “ _They are not some novelty for your amusement_ ,” said Sa Eno. She seemed shaken.

            “ _It is in my nature to be curious, Eno_ ,” Sa Dio said calmly. “ _And to be concerned with the young. I meant no offense. I simply wanted to witness the results of your work firsthand_.”

            Sa Eno took a deep breath and moved toward the door. “Echo, if Green is ill again, the refresher is unlocked and I am confident that you can figure out the controls.”

            “Yes, Doctor.”

            “I feel a lot better,” Green put in tentatively.

            “ _Dio, please, let’s go. There is nothing they should need that I haven’t packed.”_

            “Alright.” Sa Dio looked around at them all and moved toward the door reluctantly. “You are welcome to use anything in this room, as I said. Please use the pools as much as you like. We will share more time later, younglings. Echo. Green, how old are you?”

            “Um, eight,” said Green.

            “Youngling, then.” Sa Dio’s eyes turned into crescents and crinkled at the edges.

            “I graduated,” Green insisted, but Sa Dio simply took the yellow ball from Echo and tossed it toward him. 7721 lunged forward and caught it in both hands before Green even had time to get an arm free.

            “Try playing. It will pass time,” Sa Dio suggested, and dipped her head in a goodbye before she followed an ill-looking Sa Eno through the door.

            “Huh.” Green puffed out a breath. He stood, still wrapped in the blanket, walked over to the nest Sa Dio had made, curled up on the floor, and closed his eyes. “Well, that was weird.”

…

            After making sure the door was locked on the clones, Sa Eno looked around at the bright, circular foyer. Three young Kaminoans, half her size, ran across an opening in the far left corridor, but it was otherwise quiet, a wide fountain on the wall playing different notes as the water split into narrow flutes.

            “Eno… are you alright?” Sa Dio’s voice came from behind her and she turned to see her sister’s face tight in worry. Sa Dio grabbed her arm.

            “Of course I am.” Sa Eno was all too aware of how false it sounded.

            “I’m worried for you,” Sa Dio said again. “I haven’t seen you so afraid in years.”

            “I’m not afraid,” Sa Eno protested. “I am simply… impatient.”

            “That, I do expect,” Sa Dio said lightly, but she seemed unconvinced. “Are you afraid of losing them?”

             “Them?” Sa Eno looked back at the closed door. “Of course I am. They are the culmination of all of my research! If I cannot continue this project….”

            “Of course,” Sa Dio said. She put her hand on the base of Sa Eno’s neck. “Of course. Come with me.”

            As they moved toward where the younglings had passed, Sa Eno glanced back at the door one more time. There was more to this discomfort than the threat to her research. More than the investment of so many hours. Her eyes wandered over the blue patterns of the floor, the ocean moving between the walls—she heard the voices of Kaminoan children, and felt like an imposter.

            Sa Dio’s quarters were just one small section of a large school campus, nested rings of classrooms and laboratories and hatcheries and living spaces for the adults who tended the young. Walking through the hallway, another Kaminoan swam slowly through the watery passage beside them, and Sa Eno and Sa Dio dipped their heads slightly in greeting.

            “Teacher! Teacher Sa Dio!” Another youngling, this one about knee height, rushed up to them with a datapad in hand. She was barefoot and still young enough to have a small tail. “I have a ques—” She stopped, suddenly staring at Sa Eno.

            “It’s alright, Lin To. This is my sister, Sa Eno.” Dio crouched easily and Sa Eno restrained herself from making an impatient noise. “You have a question about….” She took the offered datapad. “Ah… the variant cell cycle is a little… advanced. Perhaps you could ask Wen Sai?”

            “Wen Sai is always busy.” Lin To’s voice lowered.

            “Well, let me see….” Sa Dio navigated the datapad to a new page and modified it for a few seconds before handing it back. “Try to memorize this, and I will explain the rest in an hour.”

            “Yes, Sa Dio,” said Lin To gravely. She looked up at Sa Eno for a few seconds before bobbing her head. “Sa Eno.” She hurried away with an uneven bouncy gait.

            “Remember when we were so small? Surrounded by the rest of our batch?” Sa Dio motioned for Sa Eno to follow her past another group of younglings in front of a huge window, being given an impromptu lecture on the feat of engineering that was the city of Derem. Most of them were doing their best to keep their attention on their teacher, but one and then two of them looked over with their big, curious eyes.

            “It seems like another life,” Sa Eno murmured. The wide rippling fins of the ocean-dwelling Kaminoan on the other side of the window held her attention for a moment, almost her reverence. He was clothed in them as if he were a creature grown from sea grass, free of any artificial covering but a narrow beaded band around his neck. “I never could understand why you would want to spend your entire life in a school. Younglings can be so irresponsible and invasive. But….” She thought of Ilu Bai, and then of Lama Su, and the ill feeling grew. She hoped the finned Kaminoan wouldn’t make eye contact. “I suppose adults can too.”

             “Do you still wish you were one of them?”

            “One of what?” Sa Eno turned away from the window and saw Sa Dio looking at the other Kaminoan too, swimming serenely in circles, twisting suddenly into a new position every so often to amuse the young who were watching him. “One of them?” Embarrassment brought her out of her trance and she began walking again.

            “You thought I wouldn’t remember.” Sa Dio was close to laughing.

            “What a ridiculous memory. I wouldn’t be able to pursue my career in the same way if I were one of them,” Sa Eno said, half to herself. She wondered if the aquatic Kaminoans, the Teba aucolu, ever wished they were born the land-dwelling Teba telane. The thought was absurd. “Where does your friend work?”

            “In the hatchery. It is on the fringe of this facility.”

            The hallways were getting more crowded with fluting, jumping younglings, and Sa Eno didn’t see any more Kaminoans beyond the windows. That didn’t mean they weren’t there. The water was dark and the spaces it flowed through were getting larger as they walked.

            “Which type is your friend?” Sa Eno said, when they came out the other side of the crowd and it was quieter again.

            “Telane,” said Sa Dio. “But she hatches both types, and most of her associates are aucolu.”

            “So she will know enough about this,” Sa Eno said, relieved.

            “We can hope.”

            The cheerful, half-whistling cries of the younglings faded behind them. Sa Eno couldn’t keep her eyes away from the transparent sections of the walls, wondering if the Auco felt enclosed and watched by her type, or if they took confidence from the concealing darkness of the ocean, the knowledge that the telane government was only a shell used to speak with the rest of the galaxy.

            “How do you think they see us?” Sa Eno said quietly, aware that her mind was skirting around her true questions. “The Auco? Are we real Kaminoans, to them?”

            “What a strange thing to say. I suppose you haven’t interacted with many since you moved away,” said Sa Dio thoughtfully. “Most of my aucolu associates have great respect for Telan. They know they depend on us to protect our secrets, our society.”

            “They certainly put a great deal of trust in Lama Su and the rest of us,” Sa Eno murmured, thinking. Here, the Auco were present, included and in communication with the Telan at any time they wished. They could see firsthand how the Telan lived. “No Auco can live in Tipoca and watch our actions there. There are too many foreigners. We can only depend on the shell government’s honesty.”

            “I’m sure they knew that when they placed Lama Su as our representative to the rest of the galaxy.” Sa Dio stretched her head forward to look her full in the face again as they walked. “Eno, our entire culture is based on trust. Every Kaminoan knows this. Our secrets are for us alone to share, our survival depends on each individual’s respect of those secrets, and each individual knows this.”

            “Thank you for the lecture, teacher Sa Dio,” Sa Eno said. Sa Dio was right about the trust between Kaminoans. It was the only reason her plan to bring the clones here had even worked; no Kaminoan would expect another Kaminoan to violate the ban on aliens in Derem, or search another Kaminoan’s luggage.

            Her sister smiled. “You seem troubled, that’s all. Try not to let yourself drown in one aspect of things. Your work is only one part of all of this. As much as I like your younglings….”

            “I know,” Sa Eno said quietly, trying to find a safer angle to probe. “I know bringing them here unauthorized seems selfish and reckless. But I promise it is for a good cause. You were the one who said not to disrespect the Fett project. How do you think it will decide our future?”

            Sa Dio thought for a moment before she spoke. Thick sea grasses clung to the outside of the corridor, and rippled across the transparent panels with the movement of the water. Inside, where they walked, fine black vines with tiny, many-fingered leaves were threaded in careful patterns along the edges of the floor. “Kamino is known, now. Alien scientists ask to study our waters, our culture, and we must decide what we will allow them to see. The credits from this project can be used to import materials we would otherwise have too little of. Our population will grow soon. The members of the column have been discussing an increase in the hatcheries next year.”

            “Of what type? And to what end?” Sa Eno frowned. Sa Dio had stopped beside a door, but didn’t move to open it, instead facing her. “Never mind. I was simply… wondering if it was always our intention to become a nation of weapons dealers.”

            “The politics of the rest of the galaxy have little to do with us,” Sa Dio said laughingly. “The Fett project overseers might pretend to a sympathy with the Republic, but what are we born for, especially on land, except to guard our home? It is strictly a business matter, isn’t it? They paid us for a product, the same as any other. As long as there’s no actual threat to our lives….”

           Sa Eno wondered who had actually paid for that product, and if the column, the true government of Kamino, knew the extent of and condoned Lama Su’s deal. She had no fear of going against some distant, traitorous Supreme Chancellor, she realized. It was the possibility of working against her own people that unsettled her.

            “This is the largest army we have ever created,” Sa Eno whispered. “None of our projects in the past have had the potential for such enormous consequences. For us. They were made for small conflicts, personal vendettas…. This is different.”

            Sa Dio raised her hand to open the door and hesitated, staring at Sa Eno.

            “I trust you,” Sa Dio said slowly. “You know that, don’t you?”

            The door opened. Sa Eno felt her determination waver. She thought of all the lies she’d told in order to keep Echo alive, to keep working on her project. Did she really believe that her primary motivation was selfless duty to science or her own people, and not an obsession with her own accomplishments? Or worse, a weakness for lost causes, as Ilu Bai had said?

            Through the door, the room was huge and open. The floor was primarily water, a series of wide, raised pools in low lighting, tall reeds sticking their bald, seedy heads out into the air while their wide, rounded leaves provided a sense of shelter for the eggs and hatchlings hiding below. There was only a narrow space in which to walk between them, and large transparent tubes criss-crossed these walkways.  For a moment, it seemed as if Sa Eno and Sa Dio were the only ones in the room. But then the large, silvery form of an aquatic Kaminoan loomed up in a tube to the left, and touched his tapered, webbed fingers to his temple three times.

            “Of course,” said Sa Dio, and she pulled a small handheld device from her pocket and turned it on.

            “Can you hear me?” said a modulated voice from the device.

            “We can hear you.”

            “Are you looking for Te Ban?”

            “Yes. Thank you.”

            “I thought you might be, when I saw you headed this way.” The Kaminoan’s mouth didn’t move, of course. The device merely spoke his thoughts to them. “She is in a meeting. I am her partner, Ela Mid. Is there a message I should pass to her?”

            Sa Dio looked at Sa Eno, and Sa Eno took the device before she could hesitate. “Sa Eno. I came here on a scholarly mission, Ela Mid. I was hoping to learn more about the development of communication.”

            Ela Mid drifted toward the floor, so that his face was more level with Sa Eno’s. His tail was so long, his fin weaving like a banner from the tip to the crown of his head, filling the tube around him with its movement.

            “I see. Can you be more specific?” the device asked. “What aspect of communication do you mean?”

            Sa Eno could feel her body tensing again as she thought about the implications of what Lama Su might have done. She tried to stop, aware that he was watching her closely. Instead she moved toward him, between the pools and the neatly stacked bins of supplies. “I want to understand, for example, how this device is translating your thoughts. If I were to try and speak with the hatchlings, would it work?”

            “They could hear you,” said the device. “But they would not understand. They need to learn language before your projection will make sense.”

            “I thought so,” Sa Eno murmured to herself. “But _you_ can communicate with them.”

            “Of course.” Ela Mid blinked slowly and swayed to keep himself level with Sa Eno. “On a more instinctive level.”

            “Te Ban mentioned to me that our scientists have been searching for a way to bring the telane brain into this connection, but they haven’t had any success with that.” Sa Dio said quietly. “We could ask her about it when we see her.”

            “We are always looking for improvements in the technology,” said Ela Mid. “Hopefully, Te Ban will be able to influence the hatchlings as directly as I do, someday. I know she wishes for that.”

            He floated below the floor and disappeared for a moment, but then the water stirred in one of the nearby pools. When Sa Eno stepped to its edge, she saw that the pool was deeper than she thought, with more open space near the bottom. Ela Mid swam slowly and carefully among the plants, and the tailed hatchlings, some only just the length of his hand, scattered and regathered in schools around him, all with undeveloped or half-grown limbs. She could pick out the aucolu young; their growing limbs were less blunt, more tapered, their fins and tails lengthening with them rather than shrinking away. They were so beautiful, she thought. Graceful. It was no wonder her youngling self had wished to be one of them, as silly as the thought was now.

            She brought her focus back to the device in her hand. She had had one, as a youngling, but having no use for it in Tipoca City, she had left it behind. It was small and rectangular—essentially, a comm—although there were no controls she could see to choose channels or specific targets for the message. It could only translate thoughts in the form of words, like speaking into a crowd. But it was somewhere to begin.

            The thought of dissecting it seemed sacrilegious. Sa Eno had always thought of herself as a practical person, and yet….

            “I will tell Te Ban you were here,” the comm said to her.  

            “Thank you, Ela Mid,” said Sa Dio respectfully.

            “Thank you,” said Sa Eno. She switched it off and put it into her pocket. Sa Dio watched her do it with a grave look, and then she smiled slowly.

            “Let’s go eat something while we wait, sister. I think we have a lot more to catch up on.” 


	33. Chapter 33

            “So the army might be threatened by a telepathic enemy?” Sa Dio asked, as soon as they sat down.

            They were in one of many eateries in Derem, and the slight differences from what she was used to stood out to Sa Eno. In Tipoca City, there were mess halls for the clones, staff rooms for the Kaminoans to eat in, and a few which served a mixed crowd, most of the fare prepared by specially programmed droids. In all of those, the room was an open format with many long tables. Here, there were instead many square tables that could be locked end to end to form longer ones, and partitions to provide a sense of privacy. Kaminoans prepared most of the meals, although there were droid-made snacks and a few small kitchen areas free to any individual who wanted to make their own.

            Sa Eno brought her cupped stool a bit closer to the small table they shared. “Yes….” She considered how much to say.

            “And your younglings have something to do with finding a safeguard? You mentioned projecting commands onto Green… so what role do the cyborgs play in all this?”

            Sa Eno tried to think of a good lie to tell, something close to the truth but not too damning. Nothing presented itself. A little truth it would have to be, then. “One of the cyborgs… his personality was recently overridden by an influence outside himself.” She kept her voice quiet. “He became violent toward his commanding officer. Our leadership believed it was due to an error on my part and barely let me investigate the issue before demanding he be destroyed. In the short time I had, I was able to correct his malfunction, and then I heard stories of other clone troopers, not cyborgs, who were similarly… changed. If _they_ could be turned against their allies by some outside influence, then the situation has nothing to do with my own work.”

            “And now, whether it was any mistake of yours or not, you wish to offer a wide scale solution to this flaw in return for Lama Su’s continued confidence in your research.”

            “Yes....” Sa Eno said, thinking of the chip, wondering how much anyone here in Derem knew of the army’s designs. “And the solution I came to for my own units is impractical to implement on a large scale. If I can prove that clones are susceptible to certain forms of telepathy… then I could perhaps find a way to block all telepathic signals to the clones. I am almost certain that that would be a permanent solution.”

            “Hmm,” said Sa Dio. “And if you can’t? Will you really lose your credibility as a scientist if you can’t solve an unforeseen weakness in the entire army that was not of your own making?”

            Sa Eno sighed. She may be omitting details, but the conversation was true enough to sting. “Since this incident, it has been difficult to convince military leadership that the units I work with, and the entire concept of my project, are not simply inherently flawed. It has been suggested that I have only been introducing additional weaknesses to clones that were already substandard to begin with,” she said bitterly.

            “So if you fail, there’s still a chance that those younglings of yours… could be….”

            “Destroyed. Yes,” Sa Eno murmured, watching a school of tiny green fish swim upwards in the tank behind Sa Dio. “That is likely. I must prove that Echo and the others are not the only ones susceptible, that it is not just because of their implants. That is why I must test Green. If I can prove that, and come up with a solution at the same time, I believe my project will be allowed to continue, and the Fett project as a whole will be improved.”

            “I see… you would think that if such a threat is serious, Lama Su and the others in the shell government would have more than one scientist working on a solution.”

            “They do not like to think that the quality of their product as a whole has been anything less than perfect,” Sa Eno sighed. “They would rather blame what they see as an isolated incident on me and my research.”

            “So I take it they have _not_ reported any part of this problem to the column?”

            “No.” Sa Eno took a long sip of water. “As far as I know.”

            “Have you considered reporting it yourself?” Sa Dio squinted at her. “Is that why you are so uneasy? If it’s true that the army has such a weakness, however unlikely it seems to me now… that is a heavy secret to carry. But it could affect all of us, sister.”

            “I know,” Sa Eno said into the rim of her glass before she set it down. If only Dio knew that the real secret she was carrying was so much worse. “But if I report it without sufficient evidence, certain people in Tipoca City will think I am undermining their authority.”

            “But if you wait, and the army _is_ compromised… if it becomes clear that you knew, but said nothing, you could be in far worse trouble,” Sa Dio whispered, reaching for Sa Eno’s hand.

            Sa Eno’s hand jerked back automatically and she hesitated, not sure why she pulled away, not wanting to show a guilty conscience. She moved it closer to Dio’s hand, studying her food. It was gilek, a colorful array of sea plants, carefully dried and then soaked in select seasonings. A common enough meal in Tipoca, but the droids there always made it the exact same way every time, with long-preserved ingredients rather than fresh. She wished she were in a mood to appreciate the fresh variation.

            “My advice, if you want it, is to speak with the column sooner rather than later. They will take it as an act of good faith and respect your request for anonymity while they investigate. You and your research are more likely to be protected if you seek their help now. And they could point you to a solution you might otherwise miss.”

            “Even so….” Sa Eno trailed off, wondering what would happen then. If the column thanked her for the tip and said _we’ll take it from here_ , she would have no one to go to when she finally did have a solution. And if, worst of all, they did already know about the chips, and Lama Su’s deal with the traitor, they would tell her to stop her research and her investigation, and possibly all of her work would be destroyed.

            _You are being paranoid_ , she told herself, guilty for even thinking the column capable of such treachery. For even considering disobeying them if they had some higher reason for approving of the deal.

            “Even so?” Sa Dio prompted, and Sa Eno looked up at her concerned face.

            “Even so, I….” Sa Eno scrambled to finish the thought in a way that was safe. “I am the only one who is well situated to investigate this and find a solution. I am the only one who has directly observed the effects of what is possibly a type of telepathy interfering with a member of the clone army. I feel I should at least give an honest attempt at understanding it before approaching the column. It is my duty as a scientist.”

            “What about your duty as a Kaminoan?” Sa Dio looked worried.

            “There is a good chance that Echo _was_ only so susceptible to this technology because of his implants. In that case, my approach to the column about this issue would be embarrassing and a waste of time. But I want to make sure, and improve the army’s defenses if there is any way to do so.”

            Sa Dio looked down at her meal, shaking her head minutely. “That’s not what worries me. If something like the clone army could be manipulated despite having no telepathic sense themselves, don’t you think that puts us at the same risk if such an enemy should choose to use it against us? We _are_ the ones supplying the Republic their ability to even fight this war. It would not be the first time the part we play brings the war back to us. It is only due to our secrecy that Tipoca alone has been a target in the past. If that secrecy were breached by a telepathic invader....”

            “There is no real evidence of a present threat to Kamino itself,” Sa Eno said, and tried to speak slowly and confidently. “It may simply be that the clones’ conditioning as soldiers makes it easy for their aggression to be ignited and turned against allies. Besides, if we were at all susceptible to telepathy, don’t you think the scientists Te Ban works with would have been able to find a way to help the Telan communicate with the Auco? Yet we still don’t even have access to aocolu speech without assistive devices.”

          Sa Dio frowned and brushed Sa Eno’s hand with her own before she turned back to her food. “If you say so,” she said lightly.

            “Our brains are different from theirs,” Sa Eno said, and wondered if she’d said too much.

            “From the Auco?”

            “From the clones.”

            “Of course but.... I guess if you really believe it’s enough to preclude us from danger....”

            “I think so.” Although they had been whispering the entire time, Sa Eno glanced around again to make sure no one was too close. “The Fett clones have… biochips, inhibitors, which hold back their aggressive tendencies and make them more obedient. It seems that if that inhibition is tampered with, they do not discriminate between targets.”

            For a moment, Sa Dio looked truly worried anew. But then she blinked a few times, looking inward, and it passed. “Well… if the shell government saw no cause for worry, any threat to _our_ people must not be imminent,” Sa Dio admitted reluctantly. “But I hope you do go to the column, Eno, with whatever you find.”

            “I will,” Sa Eno said. “I would not take the safety of Kamino lightly for my own personal gain.”

            “I know.” Sa Dio gave a tiny smile. She bent her head and began to eat.

            For a moment, they both focused on their food, and Sa Eno tried to relax and savor the taste. At the soft, meaty texture, memories of growing up in this city began to surface, even the days when she had friends as a youngling, before her interests and personality became more firmly set. Where were those fellow younglings now? Probably secure in jobs that were concerned with the daily functions of Kaminoan society, at home in their own hometown. So unlike how she felt now.

            Their dishes were nearly half empty before Sa Dio gave a sigh of relief.

            “Tell me more about your life in Tipoca City,” she asked. “Do you have any friends? Work partners?”

            “My research doesn’t lend itself to social activity,” Sa Eno said in a resigned tone. She had been waiting for this question. “I sometimes ask for feedback from others in the same field, and I did have assistants in the beginning but I found them too difficult to work with. I work with Echo, Diode, and Green on my own, and when I must, I consult with the military about their deployment.”

            “Do you usually get along with those military overseers, when they aren’t threatening to discontinue your research?” Sa Dio asked, with a perceptive smile.

            “No one does.” Sa Eno tried not to sound defensive. “He is a self-important sadist.”

            “ _He_.” Sa Dio laughed. “Oh, there is just one then?”

            “Just one memorable one,” Sa Eno grumbled. It felt good to let her opinions out in the open for once. “All the others are too professional to even speak to me face to face, yet for some reason he was recommended as the trainer for Diode squad when I first altered them.”

            “Diode squad. The younglings?”

            “Units One through Four, yes,” Sa Dio said impatiently. “He seems determined to see them fail, which makes little sense to me after all the work he put into training them. You would think he would be glad to see them succeed. Perhaps he is resentful that their success ultimately had little to do with his training methods.”

             “And more to do with your research?”

            “Yes. I can only conclude he has some kind of backward views on cyborgs. Or he is so full of himself that he believes any clone who doesn’t succeed under his tutelage deserves to fail. Or maybe he hates clones in general. _Or_ perhaps it is his fellow Kaminoans he feels threatened by. I have never met such a hateful person in my life, actually. Perhaps he feels that his work in training the clones he loves _so_ much will be compromised if my work means that in the future, the clone army will be half machine.”

            Sa Dio laughed, and kept laughing for long enough that Sa Eno smiled self-consciously. It had been a long time since she’d heard such a happy sound.

            “I forgot how cutting you can be about people you hate,” Dio said, when she’d finally stopped shaking with repressed giggles.

            “I forgot how it feels to hear another Kaminoan laughing,” Sa Eno sighed, again feeling that thread of uneasiness.

            “They don’t laugh in Tipoca? If I’d known that when you left, I would have told you that you would fit right in.”

            “Dio,” Sa Eno muttered, but she knew it was true.

            “Are you happy there?” Sa Dio asked, suddenly intent.

            “I… enjoy my research. It is an ideal place to pursue my passion. Of course it isn’t perfect. But I’m sure you have challenges here, too.”

            “Yes, there are the difficulties that come as part of my work with younglings, but I am surrounded by people who inspire me and challenge me… and encourage me. I worry, thinking of you isolated in your lab for days at a time, boxed in by people you hate. We are a communal species.”

            “You don’t need to worry over me,” Sa Eno insisted. “I have never been as social as you.”

            “I know….”

            Sa Eno picked at her food, trying to immerse herself in the atmosphere of Derem even as part of her continued to feel out of place. The lighting was so soft, a dappled green and gold playing on her sister’s pearly skin from the interwoven ceiling, like a lattice with the ocean above poking through in ripples. The smells of the food were so much more varied and subtle, all evoking long-buried feelings, the background murmur of conversations all in Kaminoan, familiar and yet uncommon to her ears.

            Beyond the wall to the left, a trio of Auco swam slowly, apparently in conversation, one of them nibbling on a mix of young sea grasses it held delicately in its long fingers. If they had wanted to, they could have come up through the tubes vertically intersecting the room and talked with any of the Telan who were eating inside.

            Everything here was integrated, she realized, designed to encourage cohesion and intermingling, the city itself a monument to Kaminoan unity and cooperation. But in Tipoca, it was easy and comfortable to isolate herself, each person only there to complete a task, each person’s interactions based strictly on work, the entire city built to separate and manage a great number of clones with a small number of people. She had liked the efficiency of it, the hard-edged focus on quantifiable goals and outcomes. Her lab was a niche that usually seemed perfectly suited to her, where she could work on the fringe of that great machine without being constantly watched by it.

            She itched to get to work, hoping it would not be too difficult with so many distractions all around her pulling at her emotions. The sensations of the past flickered like the dappled light, barely fully formed before they were replaced with others as the voices continued to murmur comfortably all around her. An image settled in her mind of sitting in an eatery like this with her batch, perhaps even this very place, after a large school event focusing on the arts, listening to everyone speak excitedly around her but only engaging when Dio came over to ask about her project. She had always felt a little lost in the crowd.

            “Well,” Sa Dio finally broke back into her thoughts. “I would say I know you are not interested in the work of raising younglings, but you seem invested enough in your _equipment._ I could talk about the ones I teach all day, but I’m more curious about yours. When you started this project, were you randomly assigned a test subject?”

            “The only clones available to me for experimentation are ones unfit for service in the army,” said Sa Eno. “The youngest four, Diode, were isolated because they failed in some area of social conditioning.”

            “Social conditioning? What exactly does that mean for a clone?”

            “Every clone must be raised to value the group and the mission above any individual… and above themselves. They must also be inclined to follow orders, but most of them are. That was never the real problem with Diode.”

            “Then what was? How does social conditioning normally fail?”

            “Are you asking this to humor me?” Sa Eno sighed self-consciously. Dio had been, for much of her life, one of only a handful of people who seemed interested when she rambled about her projects.

            “No! I work with younglings, you know—”

            “I know.”

            “—and I’m a little curious how much like us the clones could be. Mammals are typically social, aren’t they? I have always thought human clones must form attachments.”

            “Well… _I_ am not a military trainer,” Sa Eno said. “But I have had to learn some of their methods in dealing with my own projects. Apparently a great deal of effort is put into not allowing young clones to attach too closely to any Kaminoan or droid. Having one or two consistent caregivers is supposedly necessary in the first three years of life but after that, they are intentionally cut off and cycled through classes and training groups too quickly to latch on to anyone for long. This teaches them to value the constancy of the group rather than any individual, and gives them a resilience to loss. Apparently. That is how a trainer once explained it to me. Once they are a little older, they may prefer certain clones to others, but know that the group is still most important.”

            “I see….” Sa Dio nodded and laced her long fingers, intent on Sa Eno’s words. “So, do you know what was wrong with your younglings? Did they attach too strongly to someone?”

            Sa Eno shook her head. “I don’t know any details for certain. But I do have a theory, if their numbers have not been changed, that they were kept together for too long when they were very young.”

            “Have you ever asked them about it?”

            Sa Eno looked at her sister, taken aback. “No.” Excuses passed through her mind. But why did she need excuses? She had simply never been concerned with the answer. Not enough to really seek it out.

            “Well…” Sa Dio said softly, and paused for a moment. “But I suppose they are still together now, so if that was their goal, they achieved it.”

            Sa Eno gave a humorless smile. “I would say not to imagine they are so capable of engineering their own lives… but sometimes I wonder.”

            “In my experience, younglings can be much cleverer than we give them credit for when it comes to getting what they want from adults.”

            “They seemed so simple to me, in the beginning,” Sa Eno said to the back of her hand, resting on the table. “Just young, genetically engineered creatures… who were _occasionally_ capable of speech.” She remembered them being herded into her lab by some Kaminoan trainer whose name she’d forgotten, how they stood there in a huddle, blinking around at all her equipment. Her awkward relief at their cooperation as she’d helped them up onto the examination tables and done preliminary tests on their brains and nervous systems.

            Sa Dio made a thoughtful noise. “Do you think it’s strange that we Kaminoans don’t need to be discouraged from individual relationships in order to value the group? But these clones apparently do?”

            “Humans have few children and their family groups are more isolated and rigidly defined.” Sa Eno made a dismissive gesture. “Of _course_ they are more likely to prioritize individuals.”

            Sa Dio beamed.

            “What?” asked Sa Eno nervously. “Why are you so pleased?”

            “For once there is something we are both equally interested in,” Sa Dio said happily. “It has been _so_ long since we could talk like this. I missed you.”

            Sa Eno let out a fond sigh and tried to relax. For a moment, she wished she could tell Dio everything. But her sister would either disbelieve her or insist on going to the column even more. Guiltily, she smiled, not sure she could finish her meal no matter how much she’d missed the taste.

            “It _is_ good to talk to you.”

…

            Te Ban was bent on hands and knees over a pool on the far side of the hatchery when they returned. The clothes she wore were more like what Sa Eno was familiar with in Tipoca City, without the cloth skirt, modeled after the rigid suit of an aiwha rider. Ela Mid was nowhere to be seen. She was speaking steadily into the mic of a simple headset.

            “Give space, give space, now. Yes, you’re hungry. Yes, you’re hungry. I know. It is hard to wait. I have it right here, you see? Give space now.”

            Sa Eno glanced at her sister once to confirm it was actually Te Ban when they were close enough to see clearly. Then she stepped forward. “Te Ban. Sa Eno,” she said clearly, but not too loud.

            “Mm,” Te Ban grunted, one hand face up in the water, slowly letting the automated current roll a bunch of nobi from her hand. The dark little bulbs full of nutritious pulp grew on algae-covered rocks and on some creatures’ shells. As Sa Eno watched, the young Kaminoans, all Auco in this tank, swarmed around the nobi. With their sleek, half-grown fins, they buffeted each other out of the way, a few nipping at Te Ban’s fingers with their stubby teeth.

            “That hurts!” Te Ban jerked her hand, her tone more informative than offended. “That hurts me, my fingers are not food. See, the food is over there. It tastes much better than me, doesn’t it? Eat that, eat that.”

            “Perhaps another time would be better,” Sa Eno murmured.

            Te Ban sighed loudly and let the last of the nobi fall into the frenzy of hungry silver flashes. She pulled her hand out of the water and shook it once, hard. The familiar, living smell of Kamino’s oceans rose up even stronger as the drops from her hand hit the pool.

            “No. No, stay, Sa Eno. I wanted to meet you.” She frowned at the little marks on her fingers, tapping them sharply with the fingertips of her opposite hand. “I’m sorry… it is just _so_ hard to focus. They’re so contrary at this age.” She reached up and pressed a switch on the headset before removing it. At last she looked at them, seeming a little embarrassed. “Ela Mid told me you want to learn more about communication with the Auco? What is it you want to know?”

            “Is that simply another form of this?” Sa Eno gestured toward the headset, and lifted her own comm. “Or is it different?”

            “Yes, it is essentially the same. You want to know how it works, I’m sure.” Te Ban lifted the headset, turning it at a few different angles. “My understanding is somewhat simplistic, but…  these devices are able to translate the thoughts of the Auco into words we can understand.”

            “And when we speak to the Auco through these comms, do they hear actual sound, or is it immediately translated back into pure thought?” Sa Eno asked, fascinated.

            “Well, the Auco do learn to understand spoken Kaminoan….” Te Ban hesitated. “I should clarify… this device sends an audio message as well as a package of data to a receiver in the Auco’s brain, so not only do they hear the words as they are spoken, but I think they also receive, in a limited way, the meaning of the words in their conceptual form in the same instant. This assists them in more clearly formulating their thoughts in a way Telan can understand, and the devices can translate.”

            A receiver. Sa Eno paused, wondering if that could mean what she hoped it meant.

            “So there is a limit to what kind of data a device like this could send?” Sa Eno asked instead. “You could not send an entire imagined scene, or a blueprint, in detail… to, say, a computer?”

            “These comms are only configured to communicate with the Auco… although the computers in Derem can also receive telepathic projections from the Auco in the same way as these comm units. I’m sorry, I don’t know all the specifications.” Te Ban’s mouth twitched apologetically. “And yes, I believe the outgoing data function of these comms is extremely limited. I only know anything about it because I’m interested in developing technology which could help me communicate with the preverbal Auco hatchlings. Ela Mid says it is important for them to hear language spoken aloud, but….”

            “It would be convenient to reflect with them,” Sa Eno finished.

            “I would be a more effective teacher,” said Te Ban. “My interactions with the hatchlings are so basic compared to his. He can comfort and teach the little ones directly without confusing them, and even the verbal Auco prefer to speak to him—of course they do. Which leaves me working mainly to teach the older Telan how to speak and get along with one another. We both agree that it would be ideal if both of us were equally trusted by both types.  And the column thinks that the more integrated our population is, the more invested we will be in protecting it. They want the Telan to feel included, represented… valued.”

            Sa Eno gestured agreement. “The Telan and Auco have always been a bit segregated in their early education… simply because of the limits of our technology?”

            “It is out of convenience more than anything,” Te Ban said. Her voice was snappy, but Sa Eno sensed that was just her natural tone. “Telepathy was a latent ability in many of our ancestors but it was genetically selected for in the Auco line. It’s difficult—perhaps impossible—to engineer Telan hatchlings that are telepathic now that we’ve selected _against_ it for so long.”

            “Because we were created to interact with the rest of the galaxy,” said Sa Eno, feeling a subtle chill all the way up her neck.

            “Anything the outside world saw of us would not apply to more than the Telan themselves, and we really only represent a small portion of the Kaminoan population.” Te Ban lifted a hand in a shrug. “Our culture would be protected from the destructive feuds of Force Users, for one thing.”

            “Force Users?” Sa Dio broke in.

            “Well, yes,” said Te Ban. “Telepathy is seen as an expression of Force Ability, after all. If the Jedi knew, or the Sith, or any other cult, they might use that knowledge against us. In the days before our species split into two, they would have tried to recruit us, I suppose. But I digress… the point is that we require these devices to communicate because telane Kaminoans would not be proper guardians of Kamino if they were natural telepaths. We would instead be seen as targets. So… we speak, they receive. They think, the devices speak, and we hear.”

            “So these comms do receive telepathic information, even if they only transmit words and data,” Sa Eno said. She wondered if that meant they could also pick up signals from Force Users.

            “Not the comms, no. By the time any message from an Auco reaches the comm, it has already been translated into words.”

            “How?”

            “Hmm.” Te Ban went to a work station by the wall and hung up her headset. “Every aucolu hatchling is implanted with a biochip when they’re old enough, which is able to translate their telepathic messages into data or words that the comms can pick up. Without that, the Auco could only speak with each other. Or other natural telepaths, I suppose.”

            A biochip. A receiver. A thrill brushed over Sa Eno’s scalp.            

            “I was wondering,” said Sa Eno, trying not to seem overeager, “is there any chance that such a chip could be a useful addition to cloned military units, to increase cohesion with their—”

            “Oh no, no no no.” Te Ban lifted her hands. “That would be impossible.”

            “Impossible? Why?” Sa Eno did her best to sound innocently confused.

            “The confidentiality, for one thing!” Te Ban looked scandalized. “But e-even from a practical standpoint… the chip works only with those who already have natural Force ability. Their brains are very different, you know. And for obvious reasons, we only allow clone templates that are _not_ Force sensitive.”

            “I am aware of that, but don’t you think it would be convenient in a military context for communication amongst units and from unit to overseer?” Sa Eno said. “If this technology,” she held up the comm, “in conjunction with the biochips were offered to our clients—”

            A strange look came over Te Ban’s face. “It is simply forbidden to allow that technology to leave Kamino’s atmosphere. It must not even leave the ocean.” She seemed to shake herself. “Integrating telepathy and biotechnical reception into clone soldiers is a terrible idea. If their enemies knew about it, they would immediately find a way to exploit the technology as a weakness, just as they would with us.”

             “I see,” Sa Eno said, carefully keeping her voice subdued and apologetic. “I only asked because… I work with modified clone troopers; I’ve created a technological version of telepathy by implanting them with—”

            “Oh, my apologies,” Te Ban said immediately. “I meant no offense to your work. I just think there is an inherent risk—”

            “Yes, that is what I have found,” Sa Eno broke in eagerly. “One of my experimental clones was sabotaged by a computer virus he encountered recently. But considering that the unit he’s a part of is now reliant on that technology, I was hoping that by studying natural telepathy, I could find ways to lower the risks of that happening again.”

            Te Ban eyed her doubtfully, not saying anything.

            “What’s wrong, Te Ban?” Sa Dio asked gently. True to Sa Eno’s request to leave the talking to her, she had stood silently in the background all this time. Sa Eno had almost forgotten her sister was there.

            “There is absolutely no way the column would allow any sort of telepathy based on Kaminoan biology to be implemented in a human clone. I’m not sure it’s even possible with the technology we currently possess… unless, as I said, the human clones were already telepathic, and in that case they could already communicate with other telepathic clones, or with Jedi, without technological assistance. In any case… your cyborg version of telepathy must be different enough to be safe. Otherwise it wouldn’t have been allowed.”

            “So you think studying Kaminoan telepathy will be useless to my project?” Sa Eno let her voice sound disappointed. “I hoped to develop some way to surely prevent the manipulation of clone troopers by telepathic enemies.”

            “Most likely they are as resistant as they can be, and studying telepathy will only lead you backwards.” Te Ban gave her an apologetic look. “But I wish you _some_ kind of success. I’m sure you only have Kamino’s best interests in mind, trying to improve the clone army.”

            “Yes,” Sa Eno said dully, wondering what else she could ask that would yield anything useful. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful to the Auco.”

            “Of course not.” Te Ban smiled a little. “As long as your research is approved….”

            “Who would you recommend I ask for permission or guidance in learning more about this?”

            “The one who taught me the basic concepts of how we communicate with the Auco is called Dak Ili. But I do not know if she will tell you anything more specific about the biochips and how they work. She would likely have to ask for approval from the column before sharing that information with you.”

           “I understand.” Sa Eno folded her hands by her knees and bowed slightly. “Thank you for your time, Te Ban. Perhaps later we can talk about other aspects of your work.”

            “I’d enjoy that,” Te Ban said, bowing back, before she caught sight of a few telane younglings peeking over the edge of the nearest tank, calling in inarticulate, high tones. One was even trying to climb out. “Ah-ah! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

…

            It was a quiet walk back to Dio’s quarters. Sa Eno held the small comm in her pocket, already working on a mental list of possible tests to carry out. Before she knew it, she was in the middle of a swarm of Kaminoan younglings.

            “Ow!” one yelled.

            “Oh,” Sa Eno said, coming out of her daze to see that the spotty youngling was looking up at her with wide eyes, clutching his tail. “I’m sorry. Did I step on you?”

            “You did!” the little one said accusingly. “It hurt my tail!”

            “I’m very sorry,” Sa Eno said, struggling to hear him over the noise of his peers. Her own tone bothered her. Its sincerity sounded forced. She wondered how soon they could turn into a less crowded corridor. This section was so full of younglings she could barely see the floor.

            “Let me see,” said Sa Dio, crouching.

            “Teacher Sa Dio,” whined the youngling, “why did your sister step on my tail?”

            “It was an accident, Kedi Au. Look, your tail is alright.” She felt along its tip. “Sa Eno apologized. Remember when you hurt Kedi Pima’s arm last week?”

            “Yes,” Kedi Au muttered reluctantly.

            “Even adults make mistakes.” Sa Dio patted him gently before she stood, his shirt still low in the back to accommodate his fin. It would slowly disappear from his back as he grew older until only a small vestigial crest would remain. “Don’t get left behind. Your class is all the way down there.”

            Kedi Au ran ahead of them, somehow weaving his way quickly through the crush.

            “And you say the column is considering an increase in the hatcheries?” Sa Eno said wryly.

            “What?” Sa Dio called over the noise.

            “Nothing.”

            It was a relief to turn down the final passage to Dio’s quarters. They slipped through the door quickly and locked it behind them, the noises of the younglings disappearing all at once into the peaceful drifting of the water in the classroom pools.

           “I didn’t realize how late it is,” Dio fretted, hurrying for one of the other doors. “I must go back to my duties. I did arrange for the last few hours to be covered, because I knew you were coming, but—” She opened the door to her bedroom and stopped short, her eyes on the corner where she’d set up the blanket nest. “Eno,” she said, hushed. “Eno, look.”

            Sa Eno turned to follow her sister’s gaze. In the corner was a tangle of blankets and black undersuits, the slack faces of the clones the only break in the darker colors, the only way to tell at first glance where one body ended and another began. They were all asleep, including Echo, who was flat on his back, his head—with its blinking implant—resting against the shoulders of Green, who lay half on his stomach.

           The sight of it made her feel a little ill. She inhaled and exhaled loudly, and strode purposefully toward them.

            “Oh, don’t wake them,” Sa Dio pleaded, half laughing. “Let them sleep.”

            “They had plenty of time to sleep on the way here,” said Sa Eno uncomfortably. “They can sleep when I do. We cannot waste time.”

            Green and one of the Diodes were already stirring when she knelt to shake Echo awake.

            “Oh right,” Green said urgently after he’d lifted his head to squint at Sa Eno, but then he closed his eyes and his head fell onto his arms again.

            Echo blinked several times and immediately sat up, flinching as his pupils contracted noticeably. “Sa Eno,” he rattled. His voice was always a bit hoarser when he had just slept. “Did you find anything?” He glanced over at where Sa Dio still stood watching them.

            “I need you to analyze this device.” Sa Eno held the comm out to him. “It is capable of translating audible speech into data packages that can be received by a biochip.”

            “This would be easier if I could interface with Kaminoan networks,” Echo muttered, and cleared his throat. He took the device and turned it over in his hands while units One and Three sat up, the other two still sleeping. “We will have to take it apart.”

            “Is that alright, Dio?” Sa Eno asked nervously, but Sa Dio had disappeared and closed the door to her bedroom for the moment.

            “What is the biochip this pairs with, Doctor?” Echo asked quietly, as 7721 got up to fetch a toolkit from the crates.

            Sa Eno dismissed his question with a gesture, wishing she had one of the chips for comparison with Echo’s chip. But maybe this comm could give a clue as to their similarity. “For now, this is all we have to work with.”

            Sa Dio opened the door, wearing a fresh change of clothing and carrying a bag strapped to her back. “I have to return to my duties, younglings, but I will see you later tonight.”

            “Okay,” Green mumbled sleepily into his sleeve.

            “Should I bring some food back for them, Eno? I can bring some food back; the school meals always have a little extra.”

            “They have rations,” Sa Eno said, with another dismissive wave. “Please, don’t worry about it, sister.”

            “Well,” Sa Dio said hurriedly, “I have to go now, but try not to work yourself or your equipment too hard.”

            “Dio!” Sa Eno complained. “I do not need advice—” The door closed on Sa Dio’s smile, and Eno sighed, giving it up, trying to focus past the awkward silence as 7721 came back with the toolkit and began helping Echo pry the comm open. “Yes, I want you to study the device and see if we can understand the method by which it communicates with the biochips. But if that is not possible, we can still test it on Green.”

            “Huh? What?” Green raised his head again.

            “Nothing… you are not needed for this stage, Green. You may sleep if you wish.”

            “Oh. Alright.” Green relaxed again but didn’t close his eyes.

            “Doctor,” Echo said, “I’ve been wondering. If Kaminoans are telepathic, why don’t you test your own telepathy on Green?”

            “Wait, I thought… nevermind,” Green mumbled. “Sorry. I won’t ask questions.”

            Sa Eno sighed. “Not all Kaminoans are telepathic. Those of us who are _not_ telepathic communicate with those who are through devices like this.”

            “All telepathic Kaminoans are incapable of verbal speech?” asked Echo.

            “Analyze this device,” Sa Eno ordered. “We need to begin tests as soon as possible. I anticipate that it will take some time to see success even with this much of a lead.”

            “You think our enemy has a device like this?” Echo asked in a near-whisper, even as he and 7721 focused on setting each tiny piece of the device carefully aside in the order it was removed.

            Sa Eno watched them, aware that Green was listening intently. “Yes. I believe your chips mimic the reflective function of a telepathic Kaminoan brain, but are only set up to make your brains receptive to… commands. That initial command to suppress your will would have to come in a form of communication the chip would recognize.” Speaking of reflection this way, in Basic, with such limiting approximations, felt so crude, but she went on. “Which only something like this device could provide, if the one sending the commands is not Kaminoan.”

            “Are we certain there is no Kaminoan working closely with _him_ who could do this?”

            “None that are telepathic,” whispered Sa Eno, to the soft rattling and friction of the clones disassembling the device, and the sleeping breaths of the other two Diodes. “I’m certain of it. He must have a device like this.”

            “How can you be certain, Doctor?”

            “I am certain of it,” Sa Eno repeated, unable to explain that it was impossible for an Auco to be working with the Chancellor. No Auco ever left Kamino. “A voice alone would not activate the chips, although his voice signature might be required to fully authorize any commands. I think something about the verpine virus mimicked the type of… transmission—”  It wasn’t technically an inaccurate word. “—that these comms send.”

            After a few minutes of silence, in which Sa Eno settled awkwardly onto the floor with her legs folded beneath her, Echo placed the last piece down onto the mat flooring and stared at the spread before him. “I may need your help to understand which pieces provide which functions,” Echo said.

            “I think these pieces make up the transmitter,” Sa Eno said, pointing to a few pieces that held tiny formations of crystals and fluid between the wires.

            “You think our holoprojectors are capable of relaying whatever comes out of this?” Echo asked. He sounded doubtful, despite the near-monotone of his voice. Sa Eno wondered if her anxiety over this project was making her hear things.

            “We will find out.”

            “And then what?” Green asked, from where he still lay on his belly, his arms crossed into a pillow for his head. “Sir?” he added, lifting his head when Sa Eno frowned at him.

            She stared at him staring back at her, his face nervous but trusting, and thought about bringing him before the column, turning him purposely into the kind of being Echo had been for those brief moments in which he’d nearly killed his commanding officer. To prove a point? _To save lives._ She imagined the column ordering his destruction before she could reverse the effects. There was always a chance that in the course of the demonstration, something would go wrong, or that they wouldn’t be able to bring him out of the trance. But there was no way she would be able to convince the column of such significant betrayal from someone as trusted as Lama Su without just as significant evidence. She needed the column to believe her if she had any hope of unraveling this plot. That is... unless she wanted to go behind the column’s back as well. Not bring anything to their attention until after she had already found a way to break the effect in the army. The mere thought made her feel dirty. She would be no better than Lama Su then.

            “Go back to sleep,” she said eventually, turning away to take the pieces of holotransmitter 7721 offered her. “This is going to take several hours at least.” But she could feel Green’s eyes on her back and wondered, as she had often wondered with Echo, if it would be more or less merciful to explain what might happen before the tests began.


	34. Chapter 34

            Cody stood with his back to the classroom door, facing the jagged opening in the opposite side of the hallway. The wall itself, and part of the ceiling and floor had been blown away, leaving a clear view of the bright greenish haze of sky and the top halves of nearby buildings. Appo stood beside him lifelessly, while Neyo and Bly stood at another door a few meters away, both leading to the same place where the Jedi were discussing the campaign.

            “Well, so far, so good.” Bly took off his helmet and cheerfully popped some rations in his mouth. “Right, Neyo? No civilians for at least fifteen minutes. No conversation either, but….”

            Neyo sighed and shook his head, and Cody smiled privately at Bly’s harmless jibe. It _had_ been quiet today; most civilians who came to try and interrupt the meeting ended up turning around the minute they saw clones guarding the doors.

            “You’re awfully cheerful, Bly,” Cody said, trying to mimic Bly’s brightness, “for someone who’s been eating nothing but field rations for weeks. Come on. Where are you getting the _real_ food?”

            “Real food?” Bly asked, around his mouthful of energy stick. “What’s that?”

            “Yeah, that’d explain it. And why you’re not tired of the locals yet,” Neyo muttered, arms folded. “They’re sneaking you things.”

            “I knew it!” A middle-aged human woman with long brown braids and a navy top and shorts ran around the bend of the hall and into view. “Excuse me! I don’t mean to be rude but we were under Separatist occupation before you even got here, and resources were already thin. Let me talk to your Jedi!”

            “The Jedi are busy.” Appo finally came to life beside Cody. “If you have a specific concern, you can leave it and your name with one of us, and we will ensure it’s passed along to our generals.”

            “No, listen,” the woman said, coming closer and giving Bly an accusing once-over. “I appreciate all you’re doing, but the longer you stay, the less there will be for the rest of us.”

            “Excuse me.” Bly swallowed what he’d been chewing and cleared his throat. “Ma’am, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. None of us are eating anything we didn’t bring in ourselves. Commander Neyo here was just joking.”

            The woman looked skeptical.

            “We’ve been living on field rations,” said Appo. “And we’ll continue living on them for as long as we can. If any of _my_ soldiers have requested food from civilians, I’d like to hear about it, because it was without my permission.”

            Cody cleared his throat loudly. “Ma’am, the Jedi are probably discussing the problem of supplies for the civilians as we speak. One option is to bring in more supplies from the surrounding towns once we’ve secured them.”

            “ _We_ were hoping there would be relief supplies when the Republic took possession of the planet.” The woman snapped her fingers repeatedly. “Why is the Republic relying so much on local infrastructure?”

            Cody sighed internally. Civilians rarely took a clone’s word as having authority, even a commander, until a Jedi echoed it. Just then, he noticed more people drifting around the corner of the hallway, drawn by the woman’s raised voice. One was a gran wearing scrubs, and close behind him was a human, blonde and of indeterminate gender, dressed semi-formally in rumpled violet clothes. Most likely a student, they raised a device to eye-level. A holovid recorder. A green twi’lek sporting bandages and a neck brace, and a green nikto dressed in red came up last. 

            “We need to talk to the Jedi!” said the gran.

            “I understand,” Cody recited. “The Jedi are—”

            “In a meeting,” said Commander Neyo impatiently.

            “They’re always in meetings!” grumbled the gran. “But we never hear of the results. Ask them when the power to central is going to be fully restored. It’s been over a week! We’re still using generators at the hospital to help the ill and injured who rely on life support.”

            “Those generators—” Appo began, but Cody hurried to answer for him.

            “The army _is_ willing and prepared to give any parts or assistance we can to repair the city. We already pulled some of the generators from our walkers to help stock the hospital. I’m confident that local technicians are more experienced with local systems than any of us, and it would be pointless for the army to take over that project.”

            “I won’t believe that’s all can be done until I hear it from the Jedi’s mouth,” muttered the gran.

            “The Jedi are not available. We will remind them of your concerns when the meeting is over,” Cody said more firmly, looking directly at the one with the holovid recorder. “I’m going to have to ask you all to clear the area. If you want to leave your names with me, I’ll pass them along to General Kenobi.”

            In resignation the crowd quieted and the gran came up to leave his name with Cody before he and the braided woman went on their way.

            “Excuse me,” said the twi’lek in the neck brace. “We’re journalists from this university and we’d like to ask for the chance to interview at least one of the Jedi.”

            “If you don’t have a specific community-wide concern to bring to the Jedi’s attention,” Cody said, “I suggest you go help your families and friends. There’s plenty of work to be done out there, and we have questions from our own men to address over comm.” The last bit would be true any minute, he was sure.

            “Just five minutes, that’s all we ask!” said the human student.

            “I’m going to ask you again to clear this hallway,” Cody repeated firmly. “If you want to interview them, leave your names with me and I’ll pass on the message. They’ll contact _you_ if they want to set something up.”

            “Are you sure?” said the twi’lek. “Their meeting can’t be going on much longer!”

            “We’ll sit quietly and wait,” said the human. “You can’t forbid us from walking the halls of our own school! This is for an important project about the people of this city!”

            “Please allow us to wait!”

            Cody just stared them down until two of them shuffled off. The green nikto stayed, fiddling with a smaller, cheaper-looking handheld device. She fumbled and nearly dropped it twice.

            Cody glanced at Appo, who was eyeing the nikto suspiciously. Bly was barely paying attention, talking to one of his men over comm, and Neyo gave another of his grumpy, periodic sighs.

            “What’s your message for the Jedi?” Cody asked.

            The nikto glanced at Cody and then over her shoulder, a wide-eyed look on her face that Cody was beginning to think was the default. He couldn’t remember if nikto usually blinked in the presence of strangers or not. She just turned back to fiddling with the device, more fervently than before.

            “Kid,” Cody tried again, and the nikto jumped, cleared her throat, and ran toward Appo, who convulsively reached for his rifle.

            “How long have you been working for the Jedi?” She stopped short. Her voice was a little deep, a little husky as was usual for her species. She thrust the recording device toward his face before she saw where his hand was going. “Oh. It’s a recording device! You’re not allowed to shoot civilians.”

            Appo stared at it, and at her, and slowly lowered his hand. “I wasn’t going to shoot. But you shouldn’t jump at a soldier like that.”

            “You’re a commander? May I ask your name?”

            “Appo,” Appo said reluctantly.

            “Which Jedi do you work for?”

            “Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker. Why?”

            “Do you enjoy your job?” The nikto looked down at the handheld device as if checking off a list.

            Appo’s helmet jerked a little. “What?”

            “What’s your perspective on identity politics? Many communities in the neutral systems fear assimilation if they’re brought in to the Republic. What would you say to them, as a clone?” The nikto held out her device expectantly. Cody found her unblinking intensity both funny and unnerving.

            “Treeke, why are you interviewing clones?” the human student yelled from down the hall.

            “I’d rather have a real story instead of waiting forever to catch a Jedi!” the nikto, Treeke, yelled back, intense stare never wavering from Appo’s face. Her eyes were dark and reflective with very little of the whites showing.

            The other student made an inarticulate noise of dismissal and disbelief before vanishing around the corner.

            “I’m not interested in an interview,” said Appo.

            “What’s the interview _for?_ ” Cody asked in a weary tone.

            “A locally operated holonet news channel.” Treeke didn’t back down an inch from Appo, until he whacked her device away with the barrel of his rifle.

            “Some kind of separatist propaganda?” Neyo asked.

            “Class project,” Treeke shrugged, a gesture at odds with her slightly manic look. She turned her device over to make sure it wasn’t damaged. Cody was beginning to modify his mental image and catch the subtle shifts in her horned, leathery face as she spoke. “Who knows, I could be the first person to put an interview of a cloned soldier on the holonet.”

            “C’mere,” Cody beckoned the student over to his side of the doorway; Appo looked like he was about to say something, and for once Cody had nothing better to do until one of his men called in with a problem. Something told him this student’s unusual curiosity would find more troubling ways to manifest itself if he didn’t satisfy it right here.

            Treeke turned her aggressively focused face and recording device on Cody instead.

            “You have a name too?” she asked.

            “Cody.”

            “Cody. How do you spell that?” She turned the device’s screen toward him and he quickly punched it in. “A-hmm. Nickname? Real name? It is true that you’re primarily identified by numbers?”

            “We all have individual numbers. Our nicknames are registered with the army database too, once a trooper settles on one.” Cody tapped his wrist, where his ID chip was. “What’s so important about that information?”

            Treeke mimicked his movement, tapping her own wrist. “What is that? What does that mean?”

            “This?” Cody tapped his wrist again. “I was just pointing at my ID.”

            “Can I see?” Treeke reached for Cody’s wrist but stopped herself from outright grabbing it.

            “Not unless you have a scanner that recognizes the chip in there.”

            “You’re chipped?” The nikto’s eyes seemed to bug out, which was impressive considering how deeply set they were under her thorny eye ridges. The whites of them grew thicker.

            Cody laughed a little. “Trust me, it makes recordkeeping a lot easier.”

            “Is there a tracker in there?”

            Cody hesitated. “Maybe.” From somewhere deep in his memory, he thought he could hear whispers; the Kaminoans would find any clone who tried to leave Tipoca City. Maybe just a story told to keep willful cadets in line.

            Treeke took Cody’s wrist briefly and turned it upward as if she could see through the armor plating. “When I was seven, mine was taken out. It was supposed to explode if we escaped.” She held out her own arm, the skin like leathery, dark green bark. A thin scar was visible near her elbow, easily mistaken for a wrinkle.

            “You were a slave?” Cody lowered his voice.

            “To the Hutts, predictably.” Treeke grunted, but her voice became low and smooth. “My mother fought hard for our freedom. I promised I would honor her and all nikto by education and hard work. I want to share stories of strength like my mother’s, and tell the galaxy what’s happening in all the dark corners so they can’t ignore it.”

            Bly was listening now, leaning forward from the door he was posted by so he could see Treeke better. Cody wondered what Obi-Wan would say if he could hear this conversation. He could see the general’s eyebrows furrowing already.

            “Now I know more about you, I want to tell the galaxy about clones, for truth,” said Treeke. “We have more in common than I thought. My classmates never thought to ask. We came here for a grade.”

            “What exactly do you think _we_ have in common?” Neyo asked, and Cody frowned at the defensive edge to it.

            “We’re not slaves,” Appo said firmly. “That’s Separatist propaganda. We’re proud soldiers who swore an oath to protect civilians like you.”

            Treeke did blink then, and turned her head toward Appo. Her calloused-looking lips parted, and the slight curve of them made Cody wonder if she was grinning. “Tell me more about that oath. Is it recorded anywhere?” Her entire face twitched as Appo paced a few steps away from her and she caught sight of his limp. “A-yeah, another thing I noticed: so many of you are wounded. Shouldn’t there be reinforcements already?”

            “It’s—” Cody began, but the door behind him swooshed open at that moment. He jumped aside, pulling Treeke with him by the elbow as General Skywalker stormed out of the dark classroom. The blue light of the holomaps inside outlined him even with the sun coming through the broken wall opposite.

            Cody raised an arm to warn Treeke not to say anything—Skywalker’s hands were tight in fists as he ran down the hall, not looking at any of them. It seemed the meeting had not gone well.

            “Anakin!” That familiar balance between frustration and pleading was in Kenobi’s voice again as he ran up to the edge of the doorframe and braced himself against it with a heavy sigh. “Oh, he’s long gone, isn’t he? Commander Appo!”

            “Yes sir!” Appo straightened. “I’ll catch up to him.”

            “No. No, I’d like you to come back to the meeting with me. Now that he’s run off, I’ll need you to relay whatever we decide to the rest of your battalion.” Kenobi’s eyes drifted briefly to Cody and the nikto; he gave Cody an intrigued look. “Hello there. Is everything alright, Cody?”

            Cody dropped the warning arm he’d raised. “Yes sir.”

            “Good. Appo, let’s not keep the rest of the Jedi waiting.”

            “Yes sir!” Appo cast one last glance down the hall to where Skywalker had gone, and followed Kenobi into the black-and-blue cave of the improvised war room. It hissed shut behind them. This campus was right on the edge of the central district, and hadn’t been affected by the power outage that was still being repaired further in.

            There was an awkward silence for a moment until Neyo chuckled.

            “Share the joke?” Bly prompted.

            “Oh, nothing actually funny,” Neyo drawled. “I just think _someone’s_ in a little over their head.”

            “Who, General Skywalker?”

            “ _Skywalker?_ ” Neyo jerked and looked at Bly, lifting a questioning hand. “No! I was talking about Appo. You… you know, I wonder about you sometimes.  You say the strangest things….”

            Bly shrugged. “General Secura and I talk about the other Jedi sometimes. She seems to—” He stopped, helmet shifting just a bit to the side, and Cody realized he was probably looking at Treeke, who had just turned her recording device toward Bly. “Well,” Bly said, and left it at that.

            “I won’t ask you to finish that sentence,” said Treeke.

            “Great. Why don’t you tell us more about yourself?” Cody prompted. He could tell the other clones were uncomfortable with Treeke and the whole conversation. A part of him was too, but he didn’t want to think about Skywalker’s volcanic anger right now. A distraction would be welcome. “What planet did you grow up on? How did you end up on Saleucami?”

            “A-oh, that’s a long story. I’d rather hear about you. You don’t have to answer any private questions, but tell me something I can ask. How do you choose a name?”

            Neyo scoffed. “That depends on the clone.”

            “How did you choose yours?” Treeke asked.

            Neyo adjusted his grip on his blaster, his tone suddenly more genuine. “Well… my general gave it to me, actually.”

            Cody went silent and let the others talk for a moment, unable to pull himself away from wondering where Skywalker was going, and what would have happened if Appo had chased after him. He clasped his hands behind his back, his fingers pressed into his left wrist, unable to pinpoint through armor and under-suit where his ID chip was embedded. It was better if Treeke didn’t get an interview with any of the Jedi, if she was even interested in that anymore. He’d have to think of a tactful way to shake her off.

…

            “So that settles it,” Stass Allie said, facing Obi-wan across the holographic map. All around them was a dark stadium-style classroom, only their faces—or in Appo’s case, helmet—visible in any detail beyond the glowing, hovering lines between them. “For now. For now, we continue to hold this base and work on gathering intelligence on the outer settlements while our armies recover. If possible, the town of Sau Ollier will be fortified with a small task force, using troops primarily from my battalion, since we have the highest number of battle-worthy men available. If that is not possible, Zin Chek, your family will be brought to the city for protection. That may be the safer option, since stationing more troops there might actually attract the enemy.”

            Zin Chek nodded, perched on the edge of the holoprojector table right in front of Obi-wan. He couldn’t see her expression, but her voice seemed a little dry. “And we won’t follow the idea of that other Jedi who wanted to collapse the ways in and out?”

            “No,” Obi-wan sighed, painfully aware of Appo, who stood motionless and silent in Anakin’s spot to his right. “I doubt he was serious about that idea... although his eagerness to leave Saleucami does bring up a valid concern. The longer we stay here without support from the rest of the army, the more strain we put on the local people. It will be harder and harder for them to trust us, and easier for the Separatists to bring in a second wave of attacks if this planet is as important of a staging ground as we were told. And the missions we were supposed to attend to after securing this planet are also important. Last I heard, the council urgently advised retaking Felucia after we were finished here.”

            “I agree that this is not the end of our discussion,” Secura said. “Since reinforcements have not come yet, and the Council has been unresponsive, we must look to the Force for guidance in our decisions. I propose we meet again to meditate at twenty-two hundred hours. Master Kenobi, Commander Appo… I hope you will encourage Skywalker to come. If it’s alright with the rest of you, Commander Bly may also be joining us. We’ve meditated together many times and his insights sometimes surprise me.”

            Obi-wan looked to Stass Allie, startled and curious how she would react to Secura’s suggestion, but she was nodding distractedly.

            “Of course,” she said. “An outside perspective is often valuable.”

            “I wholeheartedly support your proposal,” Obi-wan added, shifting his weight before he could contain the restless gesture. “Well then. Shall we disperse to our respective duties until twenty two hundred?”

            At their weary gestures of assent, Obi-wan turned toward the door, gripping Appo’s shoulder to keep him there while the other Jedi departed. The doors at the opposite side of the room opened and shut in flashes of late afternoon light.

            Obi-wan kept his voice light. “Commander Appo, I appreciate your willingness to fill in for Anakin… during times like this.”

            “Just doing my job, sir,” Appo muttered.

            “I’m going to go see where he’s gone. Is there anything else you’d like to discuss before you deliver the orders to your battalion?”

            Appo sighed, or nearly did. Obi-wan wondered if he’d even heard it with his ears so much as felt it. “I don’t know, sir. I think the orders were clear enough. General Skywalker will most likely want to add some scouts from the Five Oh First to any missions General Allie assigns her men.”

            “Right. I think I’ll try to intercept him _before_ that happens.”

            “Sir… the Five Oh First isn’t down for the count yet. It’s true that we have the largest percentage of casualties right now… but if General Skywalker thinks we have enough battle-worthy men to start a fight with the last holdouts of clankers, I’m going to stand behind him. It’s my duty, and the men know their duty as well.”

            “Your duty is to win the war, Commander.” Obi-wan hated to put it in such crude terms. But maybe Appo would accept that more easily. “Taking risks is Anakin’s specialty, but sometimes, those risks are unnecessary. And when they are, it is my responsibility to warn him, for whatever good it might do.”

            Appo was silent and Obi-wan could sense nothing but the same tension the commander had carried through the entire siege.

            “Take care of yourself.” Obi-wan gave up and reached for the door.

            The door opened, blinding him for a moment after the total darkness of the classroom. Outside in the hall, Neyo and Bly were already gone with their respective Jedi, and Cody was talking to the young nikto.

            “No, it’s not a sign of rebell—sir!” Cody came to attention.

            “What’s not a sign of what?” Obi-wan asked.

            “Nothing, sir. This civilian wanted to ask a few questions about… clones, sir. How was the meeting?”

            “Fine,” Obi-wan said without feeling. “We can talk about it on the way.”

            Appo jogged unevenly away down the hall. Obi-wan could feel his discomfort, though not as clearly or with as much nuance as he could sense Cody’s restless mood.

            “Yes, sir,” Cody said, and fell into step with him, easily keeping pace with Obi-wan’s stolid march toward wherever Anakin had gone.

            “When will we finish our interview, Cody?” The nikto’s voice came from behind them.

            “Interview?” Obi-wan asked.

            “I’m… not sure,” said Cody, only slowing down when Obi-wan did. “I’d prefer if you didn’t publish anything without the Jedi’s permission.”

            “Doesn’t the Republic believe in freedom of the press?” asked the nikto, looking straight at Obi-wan.

            “Of course we do.” Obi-wan stopped and raised an eyebrow at her. “Although I do hope you would respect Commander Cody enough to frame whatever he’s told you in a positive light.”

            “I’m interested in the truth,” she said.

            “I’ll contact you as soon as I can,” Cody said. “I have to get back to my duties now.”

            “I understand,” said Treeke. “Perhaps I’ll go find another clone who is less busy. Thank you for your remarks.”

            “For the record, I was going to say individual names and markings are _not_ signs of rebellion against those who command us,” Cody added, punctuating his speech with jabs of one hand, as if pointing to spots on a map. “Some generals encourage their men to take nicknames and different armor patterns. Nicknames have never been forbidden as far as I know.”

             “I can confirm that,” Obi-wan said, wondering just what sort of interesting conversation he’d missed while poring over actual maps with the other Jedi.

            “I see,” said Treeke, and she made a few notes before finally splitting away from them.

            Obi-wan’s mind wandered as he waited for her to get out of earshot. If Anakin really was going to get a second casualty report like he’d threatened, he was probably in the medical center where they’d chosen to house the overflow of injured clones—all those who hadn’t been shuttled up to the destroyers. Obi-Wan walked quickly in step with Cody, down the empty painted, carpeted hallways, an even brighter light spilling across his feet as he edged around another place where the walls and ceiling had been blasted away and rubble half-blocked the floor. It was so quiet. The only city leadership left from before the droid invasion was completely civilian—hospital directors, the head of a local electric company, and so on. They were all concentrated on the ground floor, leaving the upper floors free for use by the Jedi and anyone else.

            It was warm outside but not hot or oppressive anymore, the sun getting low. The streets had been cleared of bodies and some of the debris, and almost looked cheerful with the scattered civilians scurrying around, finishing up the day’s salvage operations. He led the way inward, toward the central district, which was still without power.

            “Sorry, General,” said Cody suddenly. “I didn’t think it would do any harm to talk to her while the meeting was going on, but then I realized she might have an agenda. I just wanted to make sure she hasn’t got the wrong idea about us clones.”

            “What sort of wrong idea?” Obi-wan said, still considering how he wanted to say what was in his mind.

             “Oh,” said Cody. “I don’t know, sir… she said she was a slave of the Hutts at one point, and she seemed to be under the impression that the Republic enslaves clones. I tried to explain that’s not true, but I didn’t get very far.”

            Obi-wan only just restrained himself from correcting Cody, remembering how uncomfortable the commander had been last time he’d insisted on the point. Even if there was truth in the assumption, there was a real risk involved in saying so. Even if Cody protested against that point of view, his words could be taken out of context, used to criticize the Republic. It could ruin Cody’s reputation among the GAR, or worse.

            “Well,” Obi-wan said, after a brief silence. “I’m afraid we didn’t make much progress in terms of a strategy. Due to the high casualties in all of our battalions, most of the men will be assigned rotating shifts to defend and repair the city. We’ll send some of our own scouts and pilots with Master Allie’s troops to try and assess the remaining Separatist presence on the rest of the planet while we wait for a response from the Council. I’ll leave it up to you to decide who should go.”

            “Yes, sir,” said Cody. “If you’re going to talk to General Skywalker, I’ll leave you to it and go report to the captains.”

            “Cody….” Obi-wan said, reaching for his arm as he tried to split off. “Wait. I need to say something.”

            At odds with his emotions, Cody’s voice sounded calm when he fell back in step and said, “Just tell me plainly, sir.”

            Obi-wan felt the fear rising in Cody. “I promised you that I would find a way to save Captain Gil’s life.”

            “And our current situation means that’s impossible,” Cody said, and a little of that fear eased.

            “No… that’s not what I’m trying to say. West and Bite have both been extremely dedicated to Gil’s recovery, but when I asked him last night how he felt about his treatment, he said he was a burden and it would be better to die as he had planned.” Just repeating those words in a bland tone was terrible, but hearing them from the injured Captain’s mouth had been worse.

            “I see,” said Cody calmly. “So his treatment has been stopped?”

            “No! Of course not… not yet, anyway.”

            “Why not, General? He told you what he wanted.” Cody’s voice turned sharp. “If you can’t, you could let _him_ make the decision of what to do with his own life.”

            “Don’t you think he might be—” Obi-wan stopped himself. _Don’t you think he might be too indoctrinated to know what he really wants?_ Were those just the arrogant words of someone who had never been what Cody was? But the way they were so willing to devalue their lives… he couldn’t let it go unremarked.

            “That’s my perspective, sir. It’s better to die an honorable death to save your brothers, than to live a long half-life of suffering and shame. We don’t know how long it would take him to recover or how much of a cost there would be, except that it would be high.”

            “So in your view, there is no honor to be found in living despite the odds?” Obi-wan tried not to let his voice get prickly but it crept through anyway. “Didn’t you once tell me about a brother of yours who was kept alive at Master Shaak Ti’s orders, despite being unfit for the battlefield?”

            “Ninety-nine,” Cody said immediately, and Obi-wan knew he’d struck a chord.

            “Are you saying his life was meaningless?”

            “No.” Cody’s voice was fervent and quiet. He unfolded his arms, one fist curled. “He was as much a soldier as any of us. He fought and died to defend Kamino.”

            “Did he have to die before his life was meaningful? Wasn’t he your brother _before_ he gave up his life? Before the war gave him one last chance to prove himself _worthy_ by sacrificing everything he had? Wasn’t he worthy of life before that?” Obi-wan heard his voice rising with every question and tried to calm down. “I haven’t given up on the others who were ordered to return to Kamino either. I didn’t expect you to be so cavalier about this.”

            “Sir….” Cody took a deep breath, and Obi-wan immediately realized and regretted how cruel that last phrase was. “Just tell me what you want the records to say. Otherwise I’ll leave it to the men to decide.”

            “Never mind. I’ll take care of it,” Obi-wan decided. Pushing Cody to think on these things was only making him feel worse. “I’ll explore as many options as I can for their recovery before the final decision.”

            “Yes, sir,” said Cody.

            “I’m sorry,” Obi-wan sighed heavily, scratching his head self-consciously. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was cruel and untrue. I know you care about your men….”

            “Don’t worry about it, sir,” Cody muttered. “By the way, a gran from the hospital wants to talk to you about generators and when the power grid is going to be fully repaired. His name is Jisharoya Ulessenti. Walkers eight, twelve, and thirteen have been fully decommissioned so their parts can be used to repair the city.”

            Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cody’s gait falter, and he followed the commander’s line of sight to where civilian volunteers extracted bodies from the rubble. Four adult civilians were being checked for signs of life, plus one cracked suit of clone armor on top of a motionless twi’lek youngling.

            “Oh no,” Obi-wan said under his breath, as he saw the goldenrod markings. “Is that….”

            “One of ours,” Cody confirmed.

            “It’s Boil.” Obi-wan lurched forward, stopped himself, and took a few slower, uncertain steps. “He’s still alive!” he called as soon as the Force confirmed it, and he hurried over to investigate.

            Cody came with him, but there was little they could do but get in the way of the medics. The little yellow twi’lek was bundled onto a stretcher and given a breathing mask, and Boil’s shattered armor was carefully removed from him as they watched.

            “I thought, when we couldn’t locate him, he must have died during the initial fight to take the port, but there’s no possible way he could have survived for fifteen days under rubble,” Obi-wan murmured to Cody as the medics took him away.

            “This building only collapsed about seven hours ago,” Cody said quietly. Calls of “ _Alive! We’ve got live ones over here!”_ came from the medics.

            “Why did he disappear like that?” Obi-wan half-whispered. “Well… with any luck, we’ll be able to ask him ourselves.” The salvage team was moving on to the next pile of duracrete. “There’s nothing more we can do right now.”

            Thinking of Captain Gil, Obi-Wan crossed the large square to the city’s med center, a domed four-story transparisteel building that had managed to stay mostly untouched. No sign of Anakin yet, or inside the lobby, where Obi-Wan nodded in greeting to the twi’lek and human workers.

           “Did you see a rather grumpy-looking, tall young Jedi come this way in the last few minutes?” he asked them.

            “Oh,” laughed a tan twi-lek man. “Yes, he asked where men from his battalion were staying, and we told him the clones have been given beds wherever we could fit them between the other patients. He was not very happy when we could not immediately find his medics.”

            “You would think he could simply call them himself,” Obi-Wan muttered, realizing that he was likely pursuing Anakin in person for the same reasons: keeping away from someone was harder than ignoring a message on the comm. “Well, no matter. I’ll find him, and thank you for your help.”

            “Our pleasure, master Jedi,” grinned the human woman who had been working on a tangle of wires under the desk.

            “Cody, I’d better go talk to Anakin and get this over with,” Obi-wan said, motioning Cody over into the hall. “I’ll let you know what the final decisions of the wounded are. And… I’d like for you to come with me to the group meditation General Secura is holding at twenty two hundred.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Commander Bly will be participating. You’re welcome to do the same. I hope you will.”

            “I don’t think so, sir. I’ve never meditated… I wouldn’t be any good at it.”

            “You have a few hours to learn,” Obi-wan said. “If it turns out to be beneficial for you, I’d like to try it with the men who we’re supposed to be sending back to Kamino. The symptoms I’ve heard the medics list for hidden brain injuries… let’s just say they sound a lot like grief and stress to me.”

            He could feel Cody’s disapproval through the Force. “The medics wouldn’t diagnose an injury that wasn’t there.”

            “No, certainly, but their training may not have prepared them to diagnose injuries which are not strictly physical either. Now, I suppose we’d better part. I have a former padawan to check on.”

            He turned away before Cody could argue with him, knowing the commander wasn’t pleased with what he’d just said either. Obi-wan saw room after room full of injured clones and civilians passing in his periphery, trying to focus on what he _could_ do, and let the emotion pass through him as he’d been taught all his life. He walked, trying to be aware of each step, toward the unsteady feeling that he’d come to associate with Anakin’s presence lately.

            Up two floors, Obi-wan followed a particularly strong flare of anger and found Dash the medic kneeling on the floor of one of the crowded rooms, helping a trooper sit up and take a drink of water. His backswept hair was a little disheveled. Obi-wan cleared his throat to let him know he was there.

            Dash frowned up at him. “What can I do for you, sir?”

            “Did you happen to see Anakin come this way?”

            “Couldn’t exactly ignore him, sir,” Dash said dryly.

            “He spoke to you, then? What did he say?”

            “He asked me why Kix wasn’t here.” Dash was very good at keeping his nerves from showing, Obi-wan thought, listening to the loud drinking gulps of the injured clone. “And wanted me to persuade him to adjust the number of recovered clones on the casualty report.”

            “Why not ask Kix himself?” Obi-Wan wondered aloud.

            “He said Kix resents him. I recommended he go up to the destroyer and take a count himself. Kind of glad he didn’t take my advice. Kix has enough to deal with up there.” Dash shrugged one shoulder, all too cool on the outside, and helped his injured brother lie back down.

            “You refused his orders, then. I take it he wasn’t pleased.”

            “I asked for clarification,” Dash corrected, raising his voice from its mild tone ever so slightly as he stood and moved on to the next patient, this one occupying the bed. “My duty is to accurately assess and care for the health of the men. An order to persuade the chief medic to clear men for action before they’re ready directly conflicts with that duty. If the General wants to pull me out for a court martial, I suppose he’ll just have to be short one medic. I won’t lie to Kix, and I won’t lie on the reports.”

            Obi-Wan smiled unhappily at Dash’s boldness. “I don’t think he’ll do anything so dramatic. Your devotion to your principles is admirable.”

            “Thank you, sir,” Dash said and turned his attention to undoing the wrappings on the trooper’s leg.

            “Thank you for being honest with me,” Obi-wan added.

            “You’re welcome, sir,” said Dash simply, glancing up as he cleaned his brother’s wound and replaced the dressing. “I don’t really see the point in lying to anyone, if I’m honest.”

            “Was that a joke?”

             Dash’s mouth twitched and his eyes crinkled for a moment, but he just shrugged again, intent on his work. Obi-Wan laughed under his breath.

            “So where do you think he is now?”

            “I couldn’t say, sir. Hopefully not in this building.” Dash seemed to catch himself, and took a quick breath. “Sorry, sir.”

            “Oh no, it’s alright. I think I may have an idea of where he’s gone next. If I’m right and he’s gone to help the technicians, at least he’s being productive.”

…

            “Cody!” Bly ran up to him through the dust of yet another salvage team. They’d just flipped a crashed airbus onto its other side to get at what was underneath. The other commander jarred to a stop, panting, and took off his helmet. He was smiling underneath. “Hey.”

            “Bly,” Cody said, trying to refocus on his surroundings. He hadn’t let himself stop walking since leaving the med center, and had already asked Ricky face-to-face for a list of the most able men in his company. Again and again, he wrestled his mind away from circular thoughts, barely letting them form before reciting names and numbers and locations in his mind, drowning them out to the rhythm of his footsteps. He kept walking and Bly followed him. _Ark, Ashes, Double, Holt_ —

            “I heard you’re coming to the meditation later.” He said it like he was talking about a round of drinks at the bar. Like it was normal.

            “Oh. Yeah, it looks like I am.”

            “I hoped General Kenobi would come around,” Bly grinned and scratched the centimeter of facial hair he’d grown. Not much time for a trim lately, although a few razors had been passed around for those who, like Cody, couldn’t stand wearing beards. “It’s good you tried to talk to Treeke. She came to find me and Aayla a while ago. I think the General likes her. They were still talking when I left to come find you.”

            Cody felt a strange sensation in his stomach, like something growing and brushing against his insides. It wasn’t pleasant. He’d never heard Bly refer to his General by first name before.

            “Don’t worry,” Bly said quietly. “She made sure Treeke understands that there could be trouble if she names any of us.”

            “Bly… what do you mean about General Kenobi _coming around_?”

            Bly studied him for a moment as they walked. At last he said, “General Secura taught me that any soldier is bound to fight harder when he knows his life means something beyond the fight.”

            They came up to a walker where Captain Blue and a mix of battalion men were climbing over the top of an AT-TE parked in the shade of the city’s massive wall in the course of attempting repairs.

            “Blue!” Cody yelled up at the captain, to keep Bly from saying any more.

            “Yes, sir! What can I do for you, sir?” Blue yelled back, helmetless; his three thin lines of hair going front to back were easy to see in the last rays of the sun.

            “Name three scouts I can send on recon!” _CT-9997, CT-30842…_

            “Oh, Commander, you came all this way just to ask me that? Well!” Blue grabbed a line and started to rappel rapidly down the side of the walker. He had two small black circles tattooed above his eyes, connected to his eyebrows by a short vertical line each. He grinned as he ran up to Cody and saluted. “Milo, Jole, and Uncle should do the trick.”

            “You climbed all the way down here just to tell me that?” Cody tried to focus on Blue’s ridiculous cackle, but his attention was caught instead by the sight of Tucker sitting on a fallen fountain pillar just outside the shade of the wall, helping a 501st trooper through a few shoulder exercises, making encouraging faces and gestures. There was no telling who it was with their armor all identical now, but it didn’t matter.

            A hand slapped his back repeatedly and Blue pulled away from the brief, friendly collision, spouting his overly cheerful “You’re doing great work as ever, Commander! Cheer up!”

            Cody snapped back to the moment and realized he’d missed whatever Blue had said before that. “Right. Right… pass on the order. They’re to report to Commander Neyo for assignment.”

            “They’ll be glad to stretch their legs,” said Blue confidently, as if everybody in the GAR were as relentlessly cheerful as he was. “Anything else, sir? Anyone need a morale boost? You can tell ‘em to come join our repair party! Yarn fixed the radio inside to pick up the nearest approved music station.”

            “I’ll spread the word,” Cody said. For one long moment he wished he were at Seventy-Nines, drowning in the loud sounds with a drink in his hand. Maybe he could join them in the walker. It might feel good to get his hands busy.

            “Cody! Cody….” Kenobi’s voice came from behind him and he saw the Jedi running toward him, a holoprojector clutched in one hand.

            “Sir.” Cody turned to face him, and saw Bly fade back into the edge of the group.

            “Gil’s decided. He says he wants to say his farewell to you as promised.”

            The aimless chatter around them hushed, and Blue’s grin faded into an open-mouthed stare. “Gil’s decided what, sir?”

            “He’s not going to ask for any further medical treatment,” Cody said, surprised again at how little he felt. “He’s opted to die instead.”

            “Come, Cody,” Kenobi murmured and turned away. “Let’s find somewhere private.”

            “Oh. Yes, sir.” Blue stepped backward with a bob of his head, but Tucker and several others were gravitating toward where they stood.

            “By the way, Dash says Boil is bruised and has some hairline fractures but is otherwise fine.”

            Cody looked back at the other men and stopped.

            “General, wait,” he said. “If these men want to say goodbye to Gil too….”

            “Right. Of course.” Kenobi’s forehead creased. “Shall we gather in the walker?”

            Together they climbed up and into the AT-TE’s stuffy, metallic-smelling interior. Someone switched off the peppy beat of the music ahead of them. In the cramped red-lit control room, Blue, Milo, Tucker, and seven other men lined the walls so that Kenobi could stand in the center with the holoprojector. The blue light gathered and expanded into Gil’s unrecognizable form, propped on a medical table with bandages covering half of his body that they could see. Cody took his helmet off and tried not to stare at the stump of Gil’s right arm.

             “Is Stern there?” he asked, and then wondered if Gil was even capable of speech.

            But the Captain did speak, however weakly. “Yeah. He’s right here holding the projector. Good thing too… it’s about time he stepped into my armor. Didn’t… expect this much of an audience though.”

            Stern didn’t say anything, but Cody could well imagine how the lieutenant felt.

            “We’re here to thank you,” Cody said quietly, and finally he felt the heat rush to his eyes and throat. “ _I’m_ here… to thank you.”

            Murmurs ran around the room and Tucker stepped up next to Cody. “Gil… forget what I said when you got injured. I was joking, you know?”

            “But you’re right,” Gil coughed. “I’ve given you a lot of work to do over the years. More than my share.”

            “Worth every minute,” Tucker laughed sadly. “I’d do it all again.”

            Blue swallowed and slowly put on his helmet, holding it still with a hand on each side as if afraid it would come off on its own.

            “I’m so sorry, Captain,” General Kenobi said softly. “I wanted to save your life… and instead it seems I prolonged your suffering.”

            “Not too much suffering until just today. They had me on some pretty heavy painkillers. I—” Gil’s breath hitched as he tried to raise his head a little more. “I asked ‘em to stop when I realized how much time had passed. That’s why I sound like I’ve got a droid popper crammed down my throat. Sorry about that.”

            “You’re our captain, sir,” said Milo quietly. “You keep getting injured because you’re always right there on the front lines with us. You always think of yourself last. But we’re not about to think of ourselves first either.”

            “I’d give up a kidney for you any day, Gil,” Blue said fervently. “You know I would.”

            “Luckily we already had plenty from the other casualties,” West muttered wryly, arms folded at Gil’s bedside. “But I’ll remember that next time someone needs one.”

            “Speakin’ of droid poppers…Cody,” Gil said, so faintly that Cody motioned viciously to the murmuring troopers around him so he could hear. “I never got those missing droid poppers sorted out.”

            “It doesn’t matter, Gil. It’s just numbers.”

            “Heh,” Gil said, “Just numbers.” But Cody wasn’t sure what was so funny. The weak smile faded from Gil’s face. “You guys are gonna be just fine without me.”

            “I’m not so sure about that, sir,” said one of the men, and Cody didn’t look to see who.

            “You’re a good Captain,” said another angrily. “The only thing you have to apologize for is deciding to die!”

            Cody didn’t want to see the reactions on their faces—it was hard enough keeping his own steady. He didn’t reprimand the last speaker either.

            “You’ve… served better than I could have ever asked,” Cody managed to say, wishing Rex could have heard the same before he left. “You and Ricky always covered for me when I needed it. It won’t be the same without you.”

            “Stern’ll do the job just as well,” Gil creaked, his expression difficult to make out. Cody wished he were there in person to just briefly place a reassuring hand on Gil’s shoulder.

            “I thought West was treating you, sir,” said Blue, his voice unsteady through his helmet, his hands still pressed against the sides. “I thought Bite was looking into improvising some prosthetics until we could get out of here. Captain, you already had surgeries and—”

            “It’s not worth it, Blue,” Gil grimaced. “Hey. Come on. It’d be different if I wasn’t so messed up but… other men have been laid down for less.” Gil struggled to take a deep breath, eyes moving away from the projector. “My only regret is I… I don’t get to see what will happen at the end of the war. I don’t get to see us win,” Gil’s voice was distorting, cracking up a bit. “Cody. I wanted to see what it’s like.”

            He was shaking, and Cody let his hands drop to his sides, unable to think of anything comforting to say. It was true. Gil would never get to see everything he was dying for.

            “Peace… time,” Gil quaked between ragged breaths.

            _Then why don’t you live?_ a part of his mind shouted. Rex was never going to get to see it either.

            “Oh, you’ve gotta be _kidding_ me!” a trooper’s voice snarled from off-camera. “Captain, tell me you’re not actually going through with this!”

            “ _I’m_ not.” West came into view in the hologram, face set in a scowl. “General Kenobi, I hope you don’t mind that I’m about to refuse orders, but seeing as they’re only orders from Gil—”

            “Good man, West,” Cody heard Tucker whisper to himself, in the half second before Kenobi interrupted.

            “No, no, I don’t mind at all. I’m not about to stop you from doing your duty.”

            “Look at this!” said the snarling trooper’s voice again, and Bite came into view, an improvised prosthetic arm clutched in his hands, which he immediately shoved into Gil’s line of sight. “I just ran it through its final test before I can try it on you, Captain, and it works just fine! I spent the last thirty hours working on this thing with the other tech guys!”

            “Why?” Gil groaned, chest heaving, eyes drifting closed.

            Bite growled audibly and set the crude prosthetic he’d made on Gil’s bed. “Talk about a waste of resources. You know I took apart a couple things to make that, and I’m not puttin’ ‘em back together now! May as well take it. Just let us keep you alive, sir! We’ve lost enough men already.”

            “Does anyone here actually _agree_ that it’s in the best interests of the battalion for Captain Gil to die?” Kenobi’s voice was full of exasperation.

            The silence was broken only by the sounds of breathing. Cody looked at Gil’s exhausted eyes and felt something caving in. He reached for the button on the holoprojector. “Well, that’s the final word, then. Gil, get some rest. Looks like we all like you better alive.”

            He pressed the power button and turned to leave. Sighs of relief and the sound of hands on shoulder bells filled the space behind him as he grabbed the ladder and shakily hauled himself up into the open air.

            He wished there were some wind on his face, but the air was as still as it always was in the afternoon on this stagnant planet. Cody stepped toward the edge of the AT-TE, helmet under one arm, thinking about what would happen if he fell and broke a leg.

            “Cody.” Kenobi’s gentle voice followed him, as it so often did lately. “You don’t seem very pleased at what just happened.”

            “I didn’t _want_ Gil to die, if that’s what you mean,” Cody muttered, and wished West were down here instead of up on the _Tenacity_. His stomach hurt again, and he hadn’t told Tucker as much. Tucker would worry openly—West was at least better at hiding it.

            “I know.” Kenobi put a hand on his shoulder. “I… think it might be a good time to try meditating.”

            “If you insist, sir,” said Cody in resignation, looking for where Bly had gone. What did he and General Secura talk about when no one from high command could hear?

            “Come.”

…

            Cody sat facing the General under a dead tree, and set his helmet down beside him on the stones of the tiny abandoned courtyard, grey with the fading light of evening. It was a little awkward, in armor.

            “Are you comfortable?”

            “More or less,” Cody said.

            “You could take off some of your armor, if that helps.”

            Cody shook his head and tried to focus, despite the feeling that this was pointless. Flickers of light appeared in his eyes and he almost rubbed at his face before realizing that the lights were real; luminescent insects floating between the crumbling walls and statues. “I’m fine, sir. What now? I close my eyes, right?”

            “Yes.” With eyes shut, Cody heard Kenobi shifting. “The trick is to allow your mind to roam freely without getting drawn in or stuck on a single line of thinking. Imagine you are looking at your stream of thought from the outside. Don’t analyze, or condemn. Simply watch. Try to reach the state of mind you have when you’re dreaming, and accept whatever is in your mind without question, even if it seems unreasonable or strange.”

            “What am I supposed to be thinking about?” Cody asked. He didn’t want any more uncertainty. With clear orders came fewer worries.

            “Well… this time, let’s just see what comes up, shall we?”

            Of course it wasn’t that easy. “Sir…will you be seeing what I see? Is that possible?”

            “No, Cody. I would never pry into your actual thoughts with the Force. I may feel some of what you feel, but _I_ will be focusing on my own meditation. If you like, we can discuss the experience when it is over.”

            Cody sighed. “Alright.”

            “Many meditative techniques rely on measured breathing, and being aware of your own body. You must do what feels natural.”

            Cody took a slow breath and let it out, and his first thought was: Skywalker. Anger, like a stone in the middle of his body. He tried to turn away from it, but stopped, remembering what Kenobi had said. If he didn’t want to fail from the start, he would have to face the thought.

            He felt the reassuring hardness of the ground beneath him, the faint and distant noises of the rest of the city. But he couldn’t hear Kenobi breathing.

            Skywalker. An image of Rex, in that dark room—and lost in the darkness of space. Rex looked up toward his General, who stood looking down from a height, not seeing him. Cody felt as if he were watching through a ship’s viewscreen as Rex faded away, suddenly aware of the fatigue in his muscles, so ever-present lately that he barely noticed it. Gil, being euthanized by a faceless medic, his face going slack. Boil, after Umbara, not speaking to anyone, walking quickly and glaring when anyone came near. His own distant concern, barely registering, as if he had to remind himself to care. The distance Cody felt in himself, the sense of isolation. _They’re all going to die._

            He was in the enormous mess hall on Kamino, keenly aware of how close to graduation he was. Daydreaming about having a battalion of his own to command, but that thought kept coming back. How many would he lose? How many of the cadets around him would be dead within the year? The war had barely started. _You never know who will survive and who won’t_ , he had told himself. And it had seemed a simple thing to accept.

            _“As a trooper, but especially as an officer,”_ Os Tala said in her slow, ponderous Kaminoan way, “ _You must not put the lives of any one trooper above victory. Nor must you recklessly waste them.”_

Cody was caught in a sea of millions, all separate, all pixels in a grand holographic battle simulation. They flickered out and were filled back in with new ones, insignificant, replaceable. Rex was there beside him, materializing out of the blue grains of light, a serious young cadet with a determined frown. They were on a desert planet, walking against a sandstorm and yelling through their comms. They were on Kamino, doing drills outside in the rain. They were in a tent in the sweltering heat. All the planets they’d been to together. It didn’t seem real, looking back.

            _“I don’t know how you get along with everyone so well,”_ Rex said, breaking the seal on a new packet of rations.

            _“Just don’t think too hard about what they think of you,”_ Cody said back.

            _Just don’t care so much._

Fox’s blood on his glove. Cody tried to think about his breathing, calm and steady. Rex laughing, telling him about the new padawan, Ahsoka Tano. _General Skywalker’s gonna have his work cut out for ‘im._

            The bittersweet shared grin, after pouncing on Rex when he realized their assigned Jedi were Master and Padawan, and Rex was only a Captain. _But we’re working together!_

_Just don’t care so much._

            He saw himself, a cadet so full of foolish bravado, being glared at by the intense young clone who would become his best friend. He was cavalier. He was reckless. Rex, yelling at him during a training mission for “not taking it seriously”. Cody realized he had always known, instinctively, that it was easier to approach life as if decisions were less important, less final, than they actually were.

            _It’s not a big deal._ Distantly, he felt his breathing change, and tried to smooth it out again.

            Did that count as condemnation? Cody allowed the thoughts to continue, not censoring them. _I want to be free_. The thought startled him. Free? Free to what? Free _from_ what?

            He should have told Rex. He should have told him that Rex was more important to him than that. He went back to the moment, clutching Rex, suffocating in the dark.

            _“I’ll go with you.”_

            But he wouldn’t have. He couldn’t have. Rex would never have asked. There would have been no point—Rex was the soldier Cody could never be, completely loyal, willing to give his life for whatever the Republic saw fit to spend it on.

            _Why didn’t he tell me?_

            _I’m a coward,_ Cody thought. And in the same moment: _I was brave enough to let him be important._

            _“I think he feels a great deal of grief and conflict about what happened with Rex… but he won’t talk to me about it. Last time I tried, he thought I was… questioning his loyalties….”_

            Skywalker, bearing down on him: _“He was a soldier of the Republic and the Republic made its decision.”_

            Bly, staring at him: _“_ _Any soldier is bound to fight harder when he knows his life means something beyond the fight.”_

            A beep interrupted the wind that ruffled the tarp over Zin Chek’s speeder, the shadow of Rex in Appo’s silhouette. “Commander, come in. It’s Meer.”

            Cody pulled himself out of the memories and opened his eyes, looking at his blinking comm. He glanced up at Kenobi, who opened his eyes as well; a dozen tiny gold lights meandered lazily between them now, brighter in the deeper darkness, one nearly landing on Cody’s knee. Cody cleared his constricted throat. The last thing he wanted to do was speak. “Go ahead, Meer.”

            “Sir. We up on the bridge have been informed that reinforcements should arrive within one rotation. Generals Rancisis and Vos are on their way with their battalions. Please advise General Kenobi to call a meeting and contact the Jedi Council for further instruction.”

            “A bit short,” said Kenobi, when the line went dead. “But I’ll take it. Are you alright?”

            Cody tried to find words for the mess of thoughts, images and memory he’d just traveled through, all cast in a new light now that help was on the way. But the harder he tried, the more they settled into his muscles like poison, and to his dismay he found his breath too unsteady to let him speak with any dignity. He reached blindly for his helmet. A few of the lights darted away from the sudden motion of his hands.

            “It can be difficult at first,” Kenobi murmured apologetically.

            “I should have stopped him,” Cody whispered once his face was covered and Kenobi couldn’t read his lips.  He had let Rex walk out that door believing there was nothing he could have done. But that was a lie. Bly, West, Bite, Tucker, Blue, Milo and all the other men present with Gil during that call had known it. Why hadn’t he? When Rex had said he was going to be sent to his death for wounds which paled in comparison to Gil’s, why had he accepted that, before he’d even heard Fox’s rumors or Skywalker’s accusations?

            _What could I have done?_ Cody asked the voice of condemnation in his mind.  _What could I have done that wasn’t selfish?_

            Something. Surely he wasn’t as helpless as beings like Treeke and the separatists believed. But as he looked at Kenobi’s sad, patient face, he felt a sickening sense of inevitability.

            “Was it helpful, at all?” his general asked.

            “I don’t know, sir,” Cody said, and was glad when his voice was relatively steady. “What about you? Did you learn anything?”

            Kenobi looked surprised, then thoughtful. He got to his feet too. “Oh, the same lesson as ever. It seems I will always be a bit of a fool, but as long as I understand that fact… someday, I’m sure to do more good than harm. At least,” Kenobi sighed, watching the slow dance of the lights around him, “that is what I continue to hope.”


	35. Chapter 35

            In a neon-lit alley, Rex pressed himself against the wall, listening to the hubbub of the nearby club. Behind him, more troops waited. The four Gran and single Devaronian who were loitering suddenly cleared the area, glancing over their shoulders toward the alcove where he hid and scratching their heads in tandem. He pulled his rifle closer. The aliens’ movement was the signal to pursue the “enemy” down the narrow stairs by the side of the club.

            “They went this way!” he hissed over his comm. “Captain, I’m going in! The rest of you stay here!”

            “Lieutenant, wait!”

            Rex took off running down the narrow staircase into darkness, and the captain was right behind him.

            “ _Lieutenant!_ ” Dogma. It was Dogma, running after them both. _That_ wasn’t part of the plan.

            “Stay there!” Rex shouted. “I know what I’m—!”

            There was the click. Rex spun to face the way he’d come and jumped on his captain; the explosion went off right before his eyes, cutting off the other troopers’ voices above. He felt the heat on his head, saw the familiar lithe silhouette drop down in front of the flames, and began dragging the other clone toward it. 

             Something struck his shoulder and everything went black.

            “I’m getting nothing.”

            “The scan must be sufficiently thorough.” Droid voice. Hard table beneath him. Had he been that injured in the blast?

            “This equipment isn’t exactly designed for this! I only _dabble_ in neurochemistry, all I can tell you is that certain areas of the brain are more active than usual for humans.”

            “Human.” The prodding on his shoulder came again—hard metal fingers.

            “Droid,” Rex sighed, remembering where he was. He opened his eyes to the inside of his old cell on TL-89’s ship, which now housed Anzerra. The scientist and the droid looked down at him. Still a bit disoriented, Rex sat up from where he lay on the floor and looked around at the bulky equipment. They’d extracted it from Anzerra’s house the day before, once TL-89 was finally confident the building wasn’t being watched.

            The space was cluttered now but still starkly lit. A wire trailed from TL-89’s head down to the receiver box in its hand.

            “Anything new with Doctor Vertie?” Rex asked, scratching one hand through the short hair on his head, all dark. “Any other contact with Commander Barlor?” She’d finally contacted the separatists the day before, offering to sell her knowledge of the chip.

            “Nothing more yet,” TL-89 droned. “You may continue to observe.” It detached the wire and held it out to Rex, along with the headset it held in its other hand.

            “Wait a minute,” Rex said, turning back to Anzerra. “Tell me exactly what you saw in the brain scan. Is there any damaged tissue?”

            “Nothing significant that I could detect, no. The cell regrowth seems to be nearly complete. And I did not see any piece of the chip left behind, as you suggested, but the scan might not have been strong enough.”

            “Maybe we should just go back to that droid on Elrood,” Rex sighed, glancing at TL-89. “At least it seemed to know what it was looking at.”

            Anzerra folded his hands in what Rex, after two weeks of suffering the scientist’s presence, was beginning to read as a petulant gesture. “Really, Jek, if I knew more about your symptoms I could be a little more helpful when it comes to diagnosing the cause. The only thing you’ve told me, about distraction, and your mind flashing into various other places, can occur even when the brain is physically undamaged, as a result of emotional trauma. Actually, considering your spontaneous outbursts of violence, a combat stress disorder seems the likely cause of everything else.”

            “Spontaneous outbursts of violence,” Rex growled. “Does it count as spontaneous after what you did? Giving them the chip knowing it could be used to cause millions of deaths?”

            Anzerra sighed and turned away. “Well, you certainly are good at deflecting any honest query into the state of your mental health.”

            “That _outburst of violence_ was because you lied to me!” Rex got to his feet. “And endangered the people I care most about. I’m not looking for a cure for _that_.”

            TL-89 grabbed his arm, and Rex shrugged him off.

            “Don’t worry, droid. I’m not going to waste time picking a fight,” he muttered. “Come on. Let’s get back to the cockpit and go over the plan again.”

            “Agreed.”

            Together they left the anomid and locked the door behind them, and Rex took the offered cord and headset. Settling the earpieces into place, a stream of white noise and the occasional friction between metal, flesh, and fluid came through.

            “Still in surgery?” Rex guessed under his breath. The bug was audio-only, a mic set by Magdoola somewhere in Vertie’s lab. His mind turned back toward constructing a back-up plan for if the Separatists moved the chip from the facility. There were multiple routes they could take, multiple places a ship could be waiting to bring the chip to a more secure location. It would be impossible to cover them all between himself and the droid, especially on foot, even with the help of the speeder. So often lately he wished for at least a few good men to rely on. If General Skywalker had been here to help, they would have had the chip by last week, and wouldn’t have even had to plan for much more than initial contact with the enemy. But if General Skywalker were here….

            “Have you considered a plan for the event of a separatist trap?” TL-89 asked as they sat in their respective seats in the brightly lit cockpit. The blinding sun was heading for the sandy horizon ahead of them.

            “Depends on what kind of trap,” Rex said. He knew how important it was to have options when things went wrong, but he was beginning to realize there was only so much they could plan for. And after two weeks of trying to talk through every possibility, after nearly twenty hours of knowing the separatists knew about it…every hour they left the chip at the institute seemed one too many.

            “Doctor Vertie’s description of the chip’s possible uses was not as specific as the commander wanted. It seems improbable that she is purposely deceiving him, but it also seems improbable that the commander would not move the chip to a more secure location as soon as possible and force her to accompany him.”

            “You’re right. We don’t have time to discuss this any more. The sooner we get it back the better.”

            “Your map of the building seems as complete as possible for our circumstances.” TL-89 pulled it down from the compartment above his seat, spreading the flimsi across the console. “And assuming there is no failure in acquiring the key cards, and no hidden security measures in the building—”

            “We watched on the scopes when Vertie was the last one to leave the office the other night, remember?” Rex pointed out impatiently. “The front door’s activated by key card and combination both, and I got the combination written down and memorized.”

            _“Is that the last of your patients, Tarsei?”_ Doctor Luredo’s voice came through the earpiece.

            _“For today,”_ Vertie’s voice said _. “But I have a different appointment in twenty minutes.”_

“You seem confident,” TL-89 began, but Rex held up a hand and pointed at the earpiece, his heartbeat quickening. Who was the _different appointment_ with? Rex closed his eyes to concentrate on the voices.

_“Ah… I was hoping you could help me with my most recent little problem. Maybe it won’t take that long. But if you need to take a break, I understand. It’s not urgent. We can do it tomorrow.”_

            “Tomorrow afternoon, Shatter’s platoon had better be ready for the patrol in sector J-Forty-Two.”

            “Yes, sir. I’ll make sure of that. I have my eye on Rover for promotion to sergeant.”

            “You think he’s good enough?” Fox looked skeptical. “Not exactly leadership material from what I’ve seen.”

            “He’ll step up. He catches more than he seems to.”

            “Well… if you say so, Radar.” Fox sighed, staring down the hangar to where the platoon waited. “How’s your transfer holding up? You still think he’s worth keeping?”

            Rex saw Dogma standing with the rest of the group by the larty they’d disembarked from, but he knew how to pick out the odd one in a crowd of troopers. Even after this long, he was close to them but not included. They allowed his presence but didn’t welcome it. Or maybe he forbade himself from knitting in. It was there in the set of his shoulders, the way he shifted weight when the others raised their voices in teasing or agreement with each other. It had been hard enough for him in the 501st, but this was worse.

            “Yeah,” Rex said confidently. “I think he’s worth keeping. Give me enough time with him and I’ll make him one of the best officers in the Guard.”

            “Trying to do my job, huh?” Fox teased. “Maybe you can make a good soldier out of him. But not just anyone can be an officer.”

            “A good soldier, then,” Rex said easily. “Shouldn’t be too hard. He’s already been one once.”

            “Rumor has it he wasn’t such a good soldier after all. He works hard _now_ to try and make up for his deficiency, but we’ll see if it’s enough.”

            “I’ll keep a close eye on him.”

            _“I’m not sure about this project. I don’t agree with the war or the republic to begin with, but this….”_

“Thirty-Seven-Fifty-Three-Sixty-One!” Rex barked sternly, and the trooper’s body jerked into the familiar straight line. “Come with me.” He motioned sharply with his head.

            Dogma obediently came.

            _“I don’t think I can justify this after all.”_

            “What’s up, trooper?”

            “Sir?” Dogma’s voice was brittle.

            “Lost your lieutenant. He was a good man.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            _“If it would end the war….”_

_“If. It might not, and even if it does… I’m a doctor. I can’t have a million or more deaths on my hands. Maybe I should tell the commander that I was wrong about the chip. ”_

            The hangar seemed to darken and fade, but Dogma’s eyes were on him.

            “Nothing seems to go right for you, does it?” Rex asked.

            Dogma’s eyes widened, and his gaze fell quickly to the floor in front of him. “Sir. I will… I’ll work harder next time, to cover the rest of my team.”

            “I was there, you know,” Rex said. “Kona was out of range for anyone to help him when the explosion went off. I saw it just as well as you did. If you’d gone in after him you would be dead now too, and no use to the rest of us.”

            “Yes, Captain,” Dogma said automatically.

            “No sense putting yourself at risk without a good reason. Don’t let me catch you doing that, got it? Keep your head straight in battle.”

            “Yes, sir!”

            _“But if you don’t do the research for them, someone else will. If you stick with the project, maybe you can at least try to make it... more reasonable.”_

_“Reasonable? What’s reasonable about giving living beings a kill switch? That’s what they want me to do. I could maybe try to make it relatively painless. Only relatively. Quick enough that people will say it was painless, even though we don’t know for sure. But it would take… tests, and….”_

_“It may not be right, who knows? But they are only clones after all. You can wash your hands of it, or stay and be the voice of reason. I don’t think you can stop it altogether, not now that you’ve told them what it can do.”_

_“They’re not going to listen to me.”_

“Guess I’m not a very good example, am I? But I knew my limits. You’re always pushing yours, I noticed.”

            “I can’t let my team down, sir,” Dogma said quietly. “I know… no matter how long it takes. I’m prepared to _earn_ my place here. This is my last chance.”

            “At what?”

            “At… serving the Republic, sir.”

_“Tarsei, I’m only saying that there’s no point in worrying about it. We don’t know for sure if it came from a clone. And even if it did, you might be doing some good in the long run. Truthfully, it could be merciful to euthanize them all. They can’t have much quality of life, as it is, being used like weapons every waking hour. They don’t have families. They’re probably not even capable of much emotion, and whatever they do have is probably not that pleasant after being programmed to do nothing but kill.”_

_“I suppose. It’s just… having that much power to decide the fate of other beings is intimidating. Don’t you think so? If the clone armies are all destroyed, then armies of civilians might take their place. And then I would be the reason for their deaths too! I thought if I sold this tech to the separatists I could help my family and maybe the war wouldn’t last as long, but—”_

_“Civilian armies are already fighting, you know. And they’ll keep dying until—”_

Rex’s eyes flew open. The conversation seemed seamless—TL-89 wasn’t looking at him, or remarking on his mental absence. The sun was still in the same place. He hadn’t lost that much time. He hoped. His heart pounded purely from the shock of waking up and realizing he’d slipped again. The cloak Magdoola had given him was draped over his knees, and he pulled it a little higher up on his chest, trying to shake off the dream and focus on what he was hearing.

_“—and the war is over. That’s my philosophical take on it. Anyway, I’m not trying to convince you of anything, my friend. I see you in distress and I want you to know it’s unnecessary.”_

            A sigh in Rex’s ear.

            _“Well, at least I know you won’t tell anyone we talked about this. I have to go talk to that commander again… present my ideas on how to weaponize this thing. It’s just such a shame, though. I keep thinking… we could be studying it for so many other, better things. This chip could revolutionize our treatment of neurochemical disorders….”_

_“So there is another reason to keep working on it. Perhaps as you weaponize it, you will learn enough to use it to do the good you want to do.”_

            _“I guess so.”_

_“Good luck with your interview.”_

Rex took a deep breath, hearing only footsteps as Luredo left Vertie’s lab. His mind was still lagging behind in the dream with Dogma. Twice in one hour—he couldn’t keep slipping like this! He scratched his scalp again, trying to wake himself.

            “Droid,” he said quietly, and sat up straighter, waiting for any other sound. “A separatist is coming to interviewing Vertie.” He heard the background hum of air circulation systems and speech, then quiet.

            “And?” TL-89 asked.

            Rex put a hand to his ear as Vertie gave a stiff greeting to Commander Barlor.

            _“I’m sure you’ve taken all necessary measures to keep this project confidential,”_ said a thin voice.

            _“Yes. Of course.”_ She sounded nervous.

            _“Last we met, I asked you to come up with one or two ways this device could be used against the GAR. I think I’ve given you plenty of time to at least begin with a hypothesis.”_

_“I do have… at least one idea.”_

            Silence on the line.

            Vertie took a deep breath. _“This bio-chip is… well, it’s extremely advanced, from what I can tell. It seems like it could completely alter the chemical balance of the… brain of whoever has it, maybe even give specific commands to the body, as that anomid claimed. How specific, I’m not sure… but the potential is there.”_ Another pause. _“If this really is installed in most of those clones, and assuming it’s designed to accept commands from outside the body, then you could theoretically immobilize or… take control of any army you faced… you’d just have to send a message on the right frequency.”_

_“Theoretically.”_

TL-89’s voice was low. “Human.”

            “Just a second!” Rex hissed. “She’s talking to Barlor.”

            The droid fished around in a side compartment and pulled out another cord to plug into the receiver box so it could listen too.

_“Yes… theoretically. I don’t have any way to test that for sure right now. It might need a combination of frequencies. There are receptors on the chip that suggest what range of frequencies it can pick up. If I could study an active one, that would help, but as it is, I’m already pretty sure that it’s designed to be activated remotely.”_

            _“And it will require no modification of the individual chips to make them disable or kill their hosts on our command?”_

 _“I don’t think so. The, uh… the capability to do that seems to be there already. I mean… if it’s hooked directly into their brain, giving chemical commands, it has the_ potential _to control any basic physical response that you want, including causing unconsciousness or… or death.”_

Rex felt the knot in his stomach coming back, as it always did when he really thought about the chip and what it could do. His limbs started to go cold again even under the reassuring weight of the cloak.

 _“Theoretically.”_ A sigh. _“Well… Doctor Vertie, it seems you’ve made a good start of this. But if what you say is true, it’s not safe for it to stay here. I’m sure your facility is relatively secure but I’ll be speaking with my superiors tonight about moving the entire project offworld. Would you be interested in joining us?”_

_“Uh… I… well, thank you for the offer. I’m not sure—it’s just sort of sudden, is all. I’d have to think about it.”_

_“You’ll need to make your decision quickly. I doubt the chip will be staying here for very long.”_

_“Alright. I’ll let you know by tomorrow morning.”_

_“Good. Is there anything more you’d like to say?”_

            Silence. So much for Vertie’s moral objections.

_“Alright. Tomorrow morning, then.”_

Rex waited to hear if Vertie would say anything else. TL-89 lifted its head but did not speak. He heard a doorway open, and Vertie take a deep breath.

            _“Are you alright?”_ Luredo again.

            _“Fine,”_ Vertie said. _“Yeah. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. So… what was it you wanted my help with again?”_

            Rex stood up and draped the cloak across the back of the seat. “We’ve got to get into position.”

            “You plan to abduct Doctor Vertie.”

            “Only if I can’t stun her first,” Rex said. “Just like we planned. Let’s go!”

            “I give the orders, human,” TL-89 said, pointing dramatically down the hall. “Get on the speeder. I will retrieve the charges.”

            Rex ran to where the bike was parked near the offload ramp and turned it on, hoping Luredo’s problem would be difficult for Vertie to solve.  It would take them at least ten minutes to drive to the cybernetics institute, and Vertie had already stayed longer for her shift than usual.

…

            The sun seemed to be rolling slowly just on the rim of the horizon. Rex stood in the shadow of an enormous garbage bin across from the JLCI, the hood of his poncho pulled far forward. Close to his chest, the handheld showed Doctor Vertie leaving the lift, which opened to an empty first floor. Rex had already seen Doctor Luredo leave about twenty minutes ago.

            He breathed steadily, moving his mind and body into a state of readiness as best he could, holding the voices and images at bay. If ever there was a time when he couldn’t afford to slip, it was now. The smell of the trash heap was barely even noticeable to him anymore.

            The door opened. Vertie waited until it slid closed, tested that it was locked, and walked downhill, as she always did on her way home. Rex stood and followed her with quick, light steps, selecting a point on his mental map at which to intercept. He was about to sidestep into an alley when he saw Vertie turn left rather than right as she normally did. The droid was not waiting in that direction.

            Rex reached the corner and rounded it without stopping. Vertie was still in sight but half a block away, the gourd-like shape of her hair bun standing out in profile on the top of her head as she glanced behind her. Rex turned and ran in another direction, stopped and pretended to study the nearest building; its lights flickered on as the sun finally began to dip out of sight.

            Vertie kept walking at a clipped pace, head down. Rex quickened his own pace and stopped frequently, close to other standing groups, hoping this would make her believe his presence a mere coincidence until he could get close enough to stun her with the baton the droid had given him. He had the pistol tucked under his shirt, too, still unknown to the droid, but it didn’t have any setting other than kill.

            Vertie veered to the right between two huddled buildings and Rex rushed to the edge, activating the stun baton before he lunged around the corner.

            A slim hand blaster pointed directly at his chest. Vertie’s teeth were bared, her brown eyes wide with fear, both hands steadying her aim.

            Rex lifted his arms. “Whoa! Easy.” The stun baton was in his right fist, and he grimaced when Vertie’s eyes immediately went to it.

            “ _Why_ are you _following_ me?” She stepped backwards once, twice, arms and stance rigid.

            “I can explain!” Rex said. “Take it easy. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

            “What’s _that_ then?” She jerked her gun sharply toward the baton in his hand.

            “Please, just _listen_ ,” Rex said with forced calm; memories flashed of Fives emerging from the dark of the warehouse. _No, not now,_ he told himself. “I need your help. Look. I won’t get any closer.” He took a step backward, to the edge of the alley. “I just… want to talk.”

            “Who are you?” she demanded, not lowering the blaster at all.

            “I can explain that as well, Doctor. I’m… I’m not here on the orders of anyone else.” Rex hadn’t planned what to say in any detail. He had pictured more of a controlled interview, one where he wasn’t about to be shot again. One where he already had Vertie’s key card in possession if she proved uncooperative.

            “Then what do you want?”

            Rex craned his head, sweeping the area for eavesdroppers as much as he could without turning his back on Vertie. “I … don’t suppose we could talk about this in a more secure area.”

            “I don’t think so,” Vertie growled, the barest tremor in her voice. “You explain yourself _now_. I’ve lived here long enough to know how to deal with galactic scum.”

            “ _Human,”_ said the droid into the bug into his ear. “ _You have diverted from the plan. Tell me your location_.”

            “Okay—alright,” Rex conceded. “I need….” He took a deep breath. “A piece of cybernetic technology was stolen from me, and brought to _your_ institute. _I_ have to get it back. I thought… maybe you could help me.”

            “ _Human._ ”

            Vertie stared at him. Her mouth opened silently for a moment. “Are you….” Her aim finally faltered, but she reasserted it immediately. “What was it that was stolen from you? I…” Her expression shifted as if she had realized something. “I can’t return it unless I know what it is, after all!”

            Rex could see her mind working, improvising how to control the situation. She was keeping the engagement on her terms, but she was scared.

            “It was a bio-chip,” he said, quietly. “Made of organic cells. I think you _know_ what it’s for… and where it came from.”

            Vertie’s eyes strayed to his head, as if searching for evidence of the chip being cut out of him and spirited away in one grisly attack. Rex knew there was nothing to see now but a growing stubble of darker hair. What scar had been left was only visible in certain lighting.

            “I thought… I don’t know what I thought.” Vertie looked shaken. Her voice went quiet. “So you’re… you’re a clone?” She looked him up and down, fascinated or frightened—it was hard to tell.

            “What would that have to do with your decision?” Rex asked, instinctively avoiding the truth before he remembered what Luredo had said about clones having no emotions. He tried to come off less cautious and soldierly. “I have a family, you know. It might not be like your family but it’s still….” Rex felt some of his desperation creeping into his face and hushed voice as he lowered his arms a few centimeters. “They’re my brothers, and I don’t want them to be slaves to this! I think… you _know_ this is wrong, Doctor. You know how many people could die, if it falls into the wrong hands. That’s… why I’m asking you. Please.”

            She stared at him as if he were some kind of apparition. A nervous groan came from the back of her throat. “What am I supposed to do, ah?! They’re taking it offworld. If I don’t agree to go with them, I… they could kill me, because I know this. I know how it goes with secrets this big. A-anyway, you could be tricking me. This is some plot by the Republic military for all I know, and… and….” She faltered, her lips pulled back from her teeth and quivering. “I don’t want to be in the middle of this war! I didn’t want to be part of it at _all!_ ”

            “It’s not a matter of choosing sides.” Rex slotted the stun baton back into his belt and quickly raised his hand again, hoping the gesture would make Vertie relax a bit. He could feel a shadow of a tremor in his own arms and chest. “I’m not asking you to do that. All I want is the chip that was stolen from me, and then I’ll leave. It looks like… you were planning on running anyway. I have a ship. I could help you get offworld.”

            “This is crazy.” Vertie shook her head. “I can’t… I have people I’m responsible for and—”

            “So do I!” Rex said, more of a shout than he’d meant it to be. Vertie flinched and Rex took a quick step sideways and back, in case her finger twitched on the trigger. “Doctor Vertie… if you don’t help me, I’ll have to think of a different plan for getting it back. One way or another. I can’t _afford_ to fail. Not when so many lives depend on it.” The thought filled him: of his brothers, of Commander Tano and General Skywalker and Kenobi. “If you help me get it out of there, and come with me, you don’t have to worry about being blamed when it disappears. You’ll be long gone from here. I’ll do my best to take you anywhere you want to go.”

            For a moment, Rex allowed himself to hope that she would say yes. If she came offworld, she could work with him on a solution, or direct him to someone else who would. Maybe everything wasn’t lost. Perhaps his mistake with Anzerra would turn out to be a way out of this nightmare after all.

            “I… I don’t even know anything about what you are,” Vertie said, flustered. “Or… if I can trust you.”

            “You don’t have to trust me. You’re the one with a blaster,” Rex said simply. “I’ll get the chip back on my own if you say no. And if I survive and manage to get out of there, you’re still welcome on my ship.” He sighed. “I wouldn’t knowingly leave a civilian at the mercy of the separatists. Not if I had any other choice. It’s… not part of my code.” _Programming_. The thought crossed his mind in the voice of the tactical droid.

            Vertie looked as if she might cry, or shoot him, one of the two. She was terrified, but not so much of him as of the situation, Rex realized. Heart pounding, he sank down onto one knee and then the other, hands nearly touching over his head.

            “Please,” he said in a quieting voice as he looked up at her, willing her to listen. “I’m no threat to you. I promise.”

            Vertie’s eyebrows pinched, and she lowered her pistol a bit, the better to aim at his heart. “This is a trick.”

            “No,” Rex said simply.

            She didn’t move, staring through him. He could see her trying to find a malicious explanation for his actions.

            “How can I prove it to you?” he offered.

            “Stay… stay far enough away,” she said. “Out of arm’s reach.”

            “Alright.” Rex stayed on his knees, waiting for her to relax.

            “Walk in front of me.” She licked her lips quickly.

            Rex got to his feet and turned sideways, gesturing back the way he’d come. “So you’ll come with me to the institute?” He hoped TL-89 was listening and not about to interfere.

          Vertie nodded and shakily lowered, then holstered her blaster inside her long, light grey coat. “Go on. Walk.”

            Rex let his arms fall and started walking. “Thank you. I have a droid watching the entrance for me. I’m going to inform him that we’re heading that way. Droid, Doctor Vertie and I are en route to the institute.”

            “ _Understood. Comm again when you are within visual range of the entrance.”_

“Got it.”

            Vertie didn’t say anything. They walked for half a block in silence.

            “You have no idea how many lives will be saved because of this,” Rex said, and realized after hearing his own fervent voice that he felt weak with premature relief. _Not yet_ , he told himself.

            “What kind of lives?” Vertie asked quietly behind him.

            Rex considered, unsure what sort of answer she would take seriously. He didn’t know how she felt about Jedi, or clones, and he wasn’t sure if she’d believe him if he said civilian lives would be spared. “People who want to live. People who would gladly give their lives to protect those who can’t defend themselves. Isn’t that worth saving?”

             Vertie didn’t say anything, and Rex glanced over his shoulder. She had a hand tucked under her coat, no doubt resting on her blaster. Her face was unreadable. He could feel his own pistol pressed up against his back under his shirt and calculated how quickly he could reach it if Vertie needed a little last-minute persuasion. Rex hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

            They strolled back up the street. A few times in the fast falling dark, Rex turned his head and thought Vertie had disappeared, but then her coat caught his eye.

            “If I did go with you, do you have room for my parents?” she asked, the third time she caught him looking back.

            “Well… the ship’s quarters aren’t very well equipped,” Rex admitted, taken off guard. “But they can come. I’ll just have to convince my pilot it’ll be worth his while.” He wondered for a moment how they would afford traveling for any length of time. “We’ll be a little tight on credits for fuel and other supplies.”

            “Hmm….”

            “Is there anyone else in your family?”

            “Not on Llanic,” Vertie said. She blew out a breath. “You call the other clones your brothers? Do you really think of them like that, or is it just…. Well, there’s millions of you. You can’t feel like they’re all your family….”

            “We are,” Rex said. Then, conceding: “Even if we don’t all know each other. And… some of us are closer than others.”

            “How did you escape?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “From whoever cut the chip out of your head?”

             “I was never—” Rex sighed, realizing anything he said would just prompt more questions. “It’s a long story.”

            “ _Human_ ,” said the droid’s voice in his ear. “ _Approach with caution_. _I predict our mission’s odds of success have just decreased significantly._ ”

            As they turned the last corner, the dark glassy exterior of the Jru Llanic Cybernetics Institute reflected the window lights from a tall hotel opposite. Taking up nearly the entire width of the street between was a ship.

            Rex stopped and threw out an arm to stop Vertie from passing him. Backing up, he came level with her and she exhaled in a rush, shifting to stand closer to the wall beside him.

            “Why are they here?” She craned her neck to see over his head. “They said they’d come tomorrow.”

             “Commander Barlor, I take it?” The ship’s ramp was down, but no sign of life in or around it.

            “I dunno why he’d come back so soon,” Vertie murmured. Rex could only really see the whites of her eyes in the dark.

            “If we’re getting the chip out of there, we have to move _now_ ,” Rex murmured.

            “Right,” she breathed. “Ah. You stay here… I’ll go investigate.” She took a step away from the wall and then stopped. “You’ve got me bugged somehow, yeah?”

            “I’m coming with you,” Rex said.

            “ _Human, I recommend that you remain outside the building_.”

            “If they capture you, who knows what they’ll do,” Vertie argued. “Besides, you don’t have much of a weapon.”

            “I’ve got _this_ ,” Rex pulled out the pistol. “I’m not leaving until that chip is in my hands. If they see us, I’ll pretend I forced you to bring me here, so if it comes to a fight they won’t try to hurt you and you won’t be under any suspicion for helping me. Got it?”

            “What?” The whites of Vertie’s eyes were big and bright in the dark.

            “If they start shooting and we have to run, we can split up and you won’t be in as much danger. If I tell you to run, you run! Got it?”

            Vertie nodded.

            “Droid, remember the plan. You guard the door and act like a separatist if they challenge you.”

            “ _I remember the plan_ ,” TL-89 said.

            “Let’s go,” Rex said to Vertie. “Hide your blaster.”

            Once Vertie had tucked it away, they hurried toward the door. The lock flashed white at the swipe of the keycard, and then blue at the rhythmic click of Vertie’s fingers on the keypad.

            Inside, the main level of the institute was an open space just as Magdoola had reported. Lit only by the exit and elevator signs overhead, it was a dark, orderly clutter of machines and examination chairs in rows, almost like a salon.

            “My office is on the second level,” Vertie whispered, just before TL-89’s voice buzzed in Rex’s ear.

            “ _In position_.”

            At the last syllable, just as Vertie slid her keycard through the slot by the elevator, Rex impulsively grabbed her arm, feeling as if the whole room had lurched with him.

            “It’s moving,” he breathed.

            “What?” Vertie said, her whisper cracking.

            “The chip. They’re bringing it down.” Rex could feel it descending. He looked around the room for cover. “Come with me, move!”

            Rex yanked her toward the U-shaped reception desk near the front of the room, but realized they’d never make it in time—the chip was nearly level with them now. So he dragged Vertie down with him behind one of the examination chairs; it might at least give them at least half a second’s jump on the enemy.

            Half a second was all they had to get ready before the elevator opened and Commander Barlor walked out. Rex aimed between the arms of the chair and shot him in the head before his foot finished crossing the threshold.

            Barlor’s body buckled and hit the floor face-first; Rex launched himself for the man. He rolled the corpse roughly onto its back and tore the military coat open to get at the pocket of the shirt underneath. When the chip was in his hand—his heart pounding, his nerves tingling with relief at the sensation of the hard rectangular edges as his fingers curled around them—he finally looked up. Vertie was staring at him from where she still crouched on the floor.

            “You just… killed him,” she said.

            “ _Move, droid_ ,” said a voice in Rex’s earpiece. “ _We saw an unauthorized being enter this facility.”_

            “That is correct,” said TL-89. “I am under orders to guard the door and intercept his escape.”

            “Whose orders? Never mind. Commander Barlor, this is—”

            The floor vibrated under his boots as the first explosive went off—the lights of the building flickered and he heard yelling on the other end of the comm.

            “ _He is escaping_!” TL-89’s voice buzzed in Rex’s ear, the droid urging the separatists to go investigate. Rex slipped the chip into his pocket and grabbed Vertie’s arm again as she was getting up.

            “Is there another exit?”

            Vertie nodded and opened her mouth.

            “Do not move!” said a mechanical voice as the front door flashed open, blinding Rex with floodlights from the ship in the street. TL-89 was a shifting black outline in the doorway, and for a moment, Rex wasn’t sure if the droid was talking to him or someone else. He froze anyway, and another voice came from the elevator door behind him.

            “Yes. Drop your weapon, clone.”

            Rex whirled and pressed his pistol against Vertie’s head, felt her arm stiffen under his hand.  “Drop _your_ weapon, or she dies and this entire facility gets blown up… _all four_ of us along with it.”

            “You’re bluffing,” said the separatist officer—a Major, Rex guessed by the rank stripes—furrowing her bushy reddish eyebrows.

            “You think so?” Rex laughed through gritted teeth, realizing as he did so how crazy this probably made him look. “I’m a clone, you know. You think I haven’t been trained to sacrifice myself for the Republic at a moment’s notice? I don’t have to understand this technology you were going to use against us. My only job is to make sure it’s out of your hands… one way or another. The Republic already knows what you know.”

            For a moment the officer’s eyes drifted from his face, down to Commander Barlor’s limp form. Good, let her fret for a moment over whether he’d already found the chip or not. Muddy the waters even more.

            “We have other scientists,” she said. “Drop your weapon, or I’ll shoot Doctor Vertie myself.”

            “You’re going to kill me?!” Vertie creaked. “I haven’t told him anything! He forced me to bring him here!”

            TL-89 chose this moment to advance, quickly and silently placing itself in between Rex, Vertie, and the Major. It held its rifle at its chest as if reporting for duty. It took Rex a second longer than it should have to realize that the droid was giving him cover to run.

            “This clone is of value,” said TL-89. “You are not permitted to kill him.”

            “By whose authority?”

            “By my authority,” said TL-89. “He is my responsibility.”

            _Come on,_ Rex thought, staring at TL-89 even as he tightened his grip on Vertie’s arm and judged the distance to the door _._ Were there more separatists waiting on the other side? He couldn’t ask Vertie for an alternate escape route at this point. _Play along, droid. Get us out the door and then set off an explosion. We need more of a diversion than this._

            “Droid,” said the Major in an exasperated tone, “you are the property of the Separatist army and subject to my commands. Prepare to shoot this _insane_ clone on my mark.”

“I am the property—” TL-89 began, and then raised its blaster “—of no one!”

            A blaster bolt hit the Major in the hand nearly point-blank—her pistol flew and clattered to the floor while she yowled and backed away a few steps, clutching for a moment at the space where fingers used to be before her clawlike, undamaged hand whipped down to her side and she pulled another pistol free, firing at Rex.

            She _was_ firing at Rex, but it never hit him. TL-89 leapt in front of the blast—there was a shower of sparks, and a thud behind Rex. As the weight of TL-89’s body fell against him, he realized the thud was the sound of the droid’s head hitting the floor.

            Staggering and clutching TL-89’s body for cover, Rex felt a few more blaster bolts collide before he could shift enough to aim and hit the Major with a bolt of his own.

            She went down, groaning—still alive. Maybe not for long.

            “Come this way!” Vertie yelled, tugging at Rex’s arm as soon as he’d shoved the droid’s dead weight onto the floor. “Come on, we have to run!”

            Rex leapt over the chassis to follow her, but stopped abruptly and yanked his arm free “Wait!”

            He ran back to scoop up TL-89’s head under his left arm, his blasted old boots squealing on the metal floor at the abrupt change in direction. He and Vertie made it to the stairwell door just as the front door flashed open and half a dozen B1s clanked in.

            There was no time or breath for speech as Rex and Vertie hurtled down a short stairwell and through two doors into a garbage-and-sewage-paved alley. All he could manage to do was holster his pistol briefly enough to pull out a detonator from his belt.

            A press of the button and a muffled boom rocked the night, and Rex saw his shadow flash in front of him at the sudden light behind; the north side of the JCLI. A moment later both their shadows were gone as his boots struggled for traction on the slick surface.

            At one turn Vertie pulled left and Rex nearly dropped TL-89’s head yanking her back the other way.

            “Speeder,” he gasped, his chest already burning, the metal edges of TL-89’s head digging into his ribs. He could easily leave it. But if the droid’s memory was at all intact, it was his best chance at sending a secure message to Echo. And….

            “Speeder!” Vertie gasped, pointing with her own pistol as she saw it waiting behind an enormous, broken industrial fan.

            They leapt astride and Rex handed her the head. “Hold this!” he commanded. “And hang on!”

            The streets whipped by, and Rex kept the speeder’s lights off despite the fact that this made things rush out at him from the darkness like mynocks swooping in a cave; twice he nearly ran into a dark lumbering shape he could only half-guess the species of. In the brief moments when Rex could take a hand off the steering, he hit the other detonators on his belt and felt more than heard the booms behind him.

            It was too quiet. There was no pursuit yet. Rex’s hands were sweaty inside his gloves, his heart still hammering as he emerged from the outer edge of town and across a sandy stretch, up to the ship; he jumped from the speeder to unlock it, pulling the small antenna-like attachment he’d seen TL-89 use for that purpose from the droid’s head. In the brief moment after Vertie powered down the speeder, but before the ship woke up and started letting the ramp down, Rex could hear night insects and animals droning, and the sound of wind he couldn’t feel. His skin crawled.

            “Come on!” He called to Vertie as he vaulted up onto the still-lowering ramp. She was fumbling to turn the speeder back on. “Gun it or leave it!”

            On his last glance at the sky, a light like a pair of stars was growing, brighter and closer as the vibration of engines went from a distant hum to a roar. He stepped aside to let Vertie drive up the ramp and ran to the cockpit without looking back, practically clawing at the walls to get there on time.

            Into the pilot’s seat—he’d seen the droid do this enough times, he’d flown enough craft of his own; it couldn’t be that hard. His fingers flew: startup sequence, navigation—the ship’s engines and steering kicked on before Rex had fully released the brakes. The basket of tools and tech pieces sitting on the copilot’s chair tumbled sideways and struck Rex’s knee as the ship lifted up askew and he smacked the last button down before putting both shaky hands on the steering.

            Just at that moment the ship shuddered again.

            “What was that?!” Vertie cried, half-tumbling into the cockpit as Rex wheeled away to try and throw the attacker off.

            “They’re firing at us. Strap in and fire back!”

            “I’ve never used a ship’s weapon system!” But Vertie was already strapping herself in and studying the console.

            “Directional controls, triggers—it’s not that hard!” Rex pointed quickly with one hand for a second and a half before turning his full attention back to flying.

            “Okay! Okay!” Vertie squeezed the trigger on one of the sticks and Rex saw that she’d just discharged half their torpedoes in random directions.

            “Never mind! Can you lay in a hyperspace course?”

            “Navigation? YES! Yes, I can do that!” Vertie’s fingers started flying, her eyes wide and trained on the navigational readouts. “Where are we going?!”

            “ANYWHERE!”

            “Got it, got it!”

            “HANG ON!” Rex yelled, flipping the ship to avoid being rammed by the enemy—he’d just doubled back to avoid their missiles but it brought both ships too close for comfort. The atmospheric resistance rattled the cockpit; it shook like it was about to come apart. The angle was all wrong but Rex had seen General Skywalker push a ship through much worse.

            “As soon as we’re out of the atmosphere we’ve got to jump to hyperspace!”

            “Got it, got it!” Vertie said frantically. “I’m almost there!”

            The ship groaned as he shifted course slightly to avoid another missile—and so did Rex, another bit of loose tech shaking free from the overhead storage and hitting him in the head, but he grit his teeth and continued pushing the engines, adjusting his direction and marveling at his own calm. He had the chip! Even if he got blown out of the sky—but no, it wasn’t over. Even if the chip was out of enemy hands, there were millions of others just like it in the invisible hands of the enemy.

            Echo. _I have to get in contact with Echo_ , Rex thought, and eased the controls a millimeter or two off where they were before—the ship’s sickening shudder eased up and the alarms in the ship stopped screaming.

            “NOW!” Vertie and Rex yelled at the same time.

            The stars blurred and streaked, and Rex fell back against his seat, only now realizing how hard he was still breathing. His chest hurt with each breath. He was covered in sweat.

            “I laid in a course for Socorro,” Vertie said faintly.

            “Socorro,” Rex echoed, waiting for his pulsing head to supply some further information about the name. He dug his left hand into his pocket and squeezed the chip, throat suddenly tight at the realization that he’d done it. The chip was out of enemy hands. But word might still make its way to the Chancellor that a clone had stolen it back from Separatist agents….

           “It’s just another smuggler haven. Or at least that’s what people say.” Vertie took a deep breath, then another. “My family’s still on Llanic. Do you think the Separatists will try to hurt them?”

            “I hope not,” Rex sighed, and faced her fully. “Thank you. For trusting me.” Only when Vertie gave a shaky half smile did Rex remember. “What did you do with the droid’s head?”

            Vertie’s smile vanished. “I just left it in the corridor, I could barely get to the cockpit with both hands free.”

            Rex got up and walked back toward the ramp; the head was leaning up against the door to the biggest cargo hold, its unlit eyes staring at the place where wall met wall. He picked it up and inspected it for any serious damage—nothing on the head, just the neck attachment. A clean break from the body.

            “Your droid?” Vertie asked from behind him, and Rex looked over his shoulder to see her standing in the doorway to the cockpit.

            “Not really.” What had TL-89 said just before being shot? _I am the property of no one._ He could almost hear the droid correcting Vertie, telling her that Jek Novar was his human pet, not the other way around. He sighed. “Just an unlikely ally. I hope I can repair it enough….”

            “So what now?” Vertie’s voice was nervous. “Do we lay low for a while and then go back for my parents?”

            Rex stood there, staring down at the droid’s face and thinking. He had made a promise to Vertie, but he could use her expertise.

            “If you go back for them… I can’t go with you,” Rex said at last. “It would be too dangerous for both of us. I’m sorry, but I can’t take you back to Llanic. My mission’s too important to risk any more encounters with the separatists.”

            “So I’ll be forced to stay with you until you’re done?” Vertie’s voice was tightening. Her fists, too. Angry, scared… probably both. “You know, I can’t do anything without equipment.”

            “I have some equipment. Anzerra’s. Maybe you two can figure something out together.” Rex had almost forgotten about the anomid scientist. For a moment he almost took pleasure in the image of the backstabbing scientist careening around his little prison during their evasive maneuvers, bumping into the clunky equipment that filled the room and cursing.

            “Anzerra? Who’s that?” Vertie asked.

            “I guess it’s time for some introductions,” Rex sighed, and went to set the droid’s head down in the co-pilot’s seat. It was still a good hour at least until they would drop out of hyperspace. Plenty of time to see some hint of if there was anything to be gained by keeping Vertie here or letting her go.

            And when they landed in Socorro, Rex was going to buy a few parts and see if TL-89, that enigmatic, insufferable droid, was really gone for good.

           

 


	36. Chapter 36

            They sat together in the cozy cavernous room, Echo and Diode, with Green facing them a few meters away.

            “Try it again,” Sa Eno said, pacing wearily behind them.

            Echo lifted the vocal synthesizer he and Diode had first begun assembling in Tipoca City. It was finished now—or it seemed to be—but the effect he’d hoped for was still unforthcoming.

            “Green,” Echo said in Palpatine’s voice. “I’m sending you this message to impress upon you the urgency of our situation. This is a direct order to give the destruction of Unit Three the highest priority.” It was almost the exact wording the Chancellor had used in his message on Anaxes, but with a different target. “No one must be allowed to stand in your way.”

            Green frowned uncomfortably. “Are you sure I can’t know what this is all for? I mean… why are you using the Chancellor’s voice to tell me to kill allies?”

            “Whoever is hoping to take telepathic control of the army will do it with the Chancellor’s voice,” Sa Eno said impatiently. “Now hush. Echo, try sending it through his holotransmitter again.”

            Echo repeated the message through the synthesizer, recorded it and sent it from the transmitter Sa Eno had given him to the regular holoprojector in Green’s hand. Green watched the message play and shifted where he sat. It reached the end and blipped out into silence.

            “I don’t think anything is happening.” Green sighed in frustration and put the projector down in his lap to scrub both hands through his unruly hair. “Not that I want it to happen anyway… are you really hoping I’m going to go crazy and kill Unit Three?”

            “If you do, we will understand more of the enemy’s plans and be able to prevent deaths in the future,” Echo said.

            “But why can’t you just order me to do something… I dunno, something that won’t get somebody killed?” Green frowned.

            Echo turned to Sa Eno and spoke in Kaminoan. “ _Doctor… do you think the problem is with the transmitter, or the vocal synthesizer? Perhaps the chip can differentiate synthesized voices from real ones somehow?”_

            Sa Eno shook her head. “ _No… I do not think that likely. The message you received was a recording of his voice. Your synthesizer draws upon countless recordings of his voice. There should be no difference in its effect on the chip_.”

            “What are they saying?” Green nearly whined in an undertone, looking at 7721.

            “Then what are we missing?” Echo said quietly, half to himself. The Kaminoan transmitter worked; they had been able to pair its frequency with the holotransmitter. The vocal synthesizer worked—they’d even managed to produce a small hologram of the Chancellor that could be played by the holotransmitter. Green’s chip was in working order, unless by a stroke of supremely bad luck they’d managed to pick one clone with a damaged chip out of millions of functional ones. _“Perhaps the biochip is not the same as the Kaminoan one after all.”_

            _“We are missing the correct data,”_ Sa Eno said quietly, arms folded. _“I am certain that the clone biochip is the same as the Kaminoan one, and that this transmitter is able to communicate with it. Lama Su would not be able to easily modify the foundational elements of this technology that has taken countless scientists years to perfect. He is not a scientist, and no scientist intimate with the workings of the biochip technology would be willing to commit treason against our people by selling our secrets to the highest bidder. I am certain of that. We just need to discover exactly what must be transmitted.”_

            “ _I have already tried all the phrases used in the Chancellor’s transmission to me_.”

            _“But your situation was anomalous due to your implant,”_ Sa Eno countered. _“What of the others whose chips were activated?”_

            _“There is very little information on the single other known case,”_ said Echo. _“He went missing before it was activated. Perhaps his situation was also anomalous.”_

            “ _But we know the transmission of the Verpine virus and your implant’s reaction to it was what activated your chip. We know there is some kind of data transmission involved, we just don’t know what the exact data transmitted is_.” Sa Eno sighed loudly.

            “I’m sorry, but can someone please tell me what we’re up against?” Green burst, pleading. “I want to know how we know any of what’s going on here! Has this happened before? Did someone take control of another trooper?”

            “It is not important for you to understand,” said Sa Eno, her voice more terse than usual. But Echo knew it was because she was distressed by their lack of progress when she looked right back at him. “All I can suggest is a review of any phrases in your memory that might be relevant.”

            “I have already—” Echo began, but Green interrupted.

            “If this is the real reason I’m here, and not so you can fix me, then I think it _is_ important for me to understand! I—s-sorry, Doctor.” Green looked ashamed at his own agitation. “I don’t mean any disrespect, and I do want to help the Republic, but—these tests are—”

            “Hush,” Sa Eno urged with forced calm. “Echo needs to think.”

            Green went quiet, picking at a loose thread on the seam of his pants.

            Echo looked at Sa Eno for a long moment and considered asking her to give him access to the network in Derem, knowing she would refuse. But surely if he could access that network, he would have the information he needed.

            Instead he closed his eyes, sifting through memories. He’d already revisited the memories of their mission on Anaxes dozens of times, searching for some clue he might have missed. He’d already tried reviewing their analysis of the Verpine virus, but that was no help either. His last conversations with Rex… why hadn’t he asked more questions about what had happened to Fives and that other trooper… Tup? Tup had killed a Jedi, but none of his other allies… and Fives… Fives hadn’t tried to kill anyone. He had been framed.

            _He said he had proof that the chips were designed to control the army, to make us kill Jedi. And that the Chancellor was in on this plan._

            Green sighed, slumped with arms folded, muttering something under his breath. It took a moment for Echo’s busy brain to process it. “These tests are givin’ me nightmares….”

            Rex’s voice, firm but weak, continued in mental replay. _Fives mentioned nightmares, just before he died. And a mission. I think it’s the same nightmare I have... a nightmare where I’m forced to kill Jedi. Even my own General. I asked some of the other men... we all have the same dreams, and I’m convinced it’s because of this chip._

            They were getting sidetracked. Rex had fervently believed that the purpose of the chips wasn’t merely to be able to control clones for any purpose. Both Rex and apparently Fives were convinced that the Jedi were the ultimate target. Perhaps they were wrong to be trying to trigger Green into killing any ally rather than a Jedi target. That hadn’t made a difference on Anaxes... but the situation on Anaxes had been anomalous.

            Echo knew of the nightmares Rex was referring to. He had often had them too, but they were only a vague recollection from before he had been upgraded. If everyone was having the same specific dream, that did seem to suggest there might be some relation to the chip, though how that could be was an unknown, since the chips were inactive until the time of need. Orders to kill allies, including the Jedi in one case, were already familiar to every trooper—they were right there in the reg manual, contingency orders that they all knew would most likely never be given. If dwelt on too long, maybe yes… they could result in bad dreams. He had always thought the nightmares were just a symptom of growing up being trained to kill, wondering if he had it in him to follow every order absolutely and without qualms. Imagining worst case scenarios when his mind was unguarded and falling asleep, staying up too late reviewing regs.

            Fives never stayed up late reviewing regs.

            Echo opened his eyes. “Green, do you recall being trained in contingency orders as a cadet?”

            Green frowned. “Yeah, sure. We went over it... I was never on command track though, so I only really remember focusing on a few in depth as an exercise.”

            “Do you remember which ones you were specifically trained in?”

            “Of course,” Green said, furrowing his brow. “We did... sixty-four through sixty-six. The first one was that if Coruscant falls to the enemy, the—”

            “I am familiar with it,” Echo said. “Do you remember sixty-six?”

            “Yeah... It was about how if our ‘Jedi Officers’ turned out to be traitors, we were supposed to take ‘em out, which never really made sense to me because how would every Jedi turn out to be a traitor at the same time, aren’t there ten thousand of them out there? That just seems really—”

            “Focus, Green.”

            Green stiffened and looked at Echo, hesitating. “You said... these tests were about the enemy using the Chancellor’s voice to make us kill allies. You mean the Jedi?” When Echo didn’t move to confirm or deny his question, he pressed on. “Why not just pretend to be the Chancellor and call in Order 66? Why use telepathy... or... whatever this is....” He glanced at the comm.

            “Would you shoot a Jedi General if commanded?” Echo asked.

            “Well... I... I don’t know.... I think....”

            “You weren’t on the battlefield long enough to realistically answer that. The trust that exists between the soldiers and the Jedi must be unfailing if the army is to be cohesive and successful. The contingency orders are intended to be followed without question, but in practice, such an order is more likely to cause chaos and confusion than action. Commanders, certainly, would be aware of the possibility that the enemy would try to take advantage of such an order, and the need to verify its authenticity would outweigh the need to carry it out, especially if the Jedi have not obviously behaved in any traitorous manner. Even if it was verified as coming from the Chancellor, I believe most commanders would be unwilling to carry it out without an explanation.”

            “Then why did you ask about the orders?”

            “I wonder if there is any connection between the order and the enemy’s plan.” Echo picked up the vocal synthesizer and the Kaminoan transmitter, turning both on; Green’s wide eyes flicked up from where he was picking at his nails.

            “Trooper,” he said into the synthesizer, and Palpatine’s voice echoed his. “This is a direct order to give Contingency Order Sixty-Six your highest priority.”

            He sent the message to Green’s holotransmitter, and Green looked repelled as he watched the small fuzzy hologram of the Chancellor deliver the order.

            “Eh,” Green said, a note of revulsion coloring his tone, “this isn’t working.”

            Green’s comment seemed to break the spell of their concentration. Suddenly there was a restlessness in the room, and Echo could sense a flow of pessimism permeating the network. Echo barely contained a ragged sigh before allowing the Diodes the space to take a break from the experimentation—if such haphazard trial and error could even be considered such.

            “Green, you may take a short break.”

            As Green got up to inspect their supply of rations, Echo turned to Sa Eno.

            “We will keep trying,” he said.

            “Hm. I am not very familiar with these contingency orders,” Sa Eno said. “Perhaps I should investigate the methods by which the troopers are trained in them.”

            “Perhaps,” Echo replied. “I don’t recall anything particularly unusual from my own time as a cadet. I was one of the few in my training group who committed to memorizing all one-hundred-fifty of them. Most of my peers didn’t bother with more than a cursory skim. However, our group also was trained in Order Sixty-Six, just as Green’s was, though the other two were different. Maybe that is a coincidence. Maybe not. Given the similarity between the details of the order and what we know of the enemy’s plan, I think it’s worth giving it more attention.”

            Sa Eno bowed her head in agreement and pulled a datapad from her belongings. She seemed... tired. The tedium of and lack of success with the tests was getting to all of them.

            Echo turned away and studied the Kaminoan device for the hundredth time. Sa Eno had said it was used for communication with telepaths, so it must also be able to receive data, not merely transmit.

            Hoping the receiving frequency was the same as the transmitting one, Echo focused on the device. He closed his eyes and saw a page from the reg manual almost as clearly as if he was looking at it.

            _Manual of Regulations and Contingency Orders for The Grand Army of the Republic_ , Echo thought. _Section One Hundred Fifty One._ He saw in his mind the familiar introduction:

            _As an honorable and dependable member of the Grand Army of the Republic, you may be called upon to carry out orders that are difficult to understand in times of great need. The following contingency orders may test your loyalty. However, indecision or hesitancy may result in unnecessary loss of life of your fellow troopers and bring about greater failure. Have faith in the judgment of your superior officers to act at all times in the best interests of the Republic and of the Grand Army. Remember, good soldiers follow orders swiftly and faithfully._

            All of the orders that followed were ones that related to ousting traitors at various levels or taking up civilian targets. Order 65 was the first in the section.

            _Order S—_

            “Green! Where are you—” Sa Eno’s voice interrupted as Green leapt to his feet—for a moment Echo thought he’d decided he’d had enough of the tests and was about to storm off, but Green snapped to attention. “What is it?”

            At first glance the squad barely recognized him. His face, which normally looked young and vulnerable, was focused and hardened.

            “Green.” The commanding edge to Sa Eno’s voice sounded uneasy. “What is wrong?”

            “Nothing, sir,” said Green, in a low, clenched tone that was nothing like Green’s.

            7723 and 7724 stood up too, but kept their distance from him.

            “I was attempting to transmit data from the reg manual about contingency orders to the device,” Echo said, standing, “but I didn’t make it beyond the introduction.”

            Green’s eyes, which had been tracking Units Three and Four, snapped back to Echo’s face.

            “What does it say? Is there anything suspicious in the introduction?” she asked.

            “Not particularly,” Echo said, and he repeated the paragraph to her.

            “Good soldiers follow orders swiftly and faithfully....” Sa Eno repeated the end of the paragraph, and Green looked at her in turn. She shook her head. “Well, whatever it was, he does seem to be....” Sa Eno studied Green’s tense stance and paced a bit in front of him, watching the way he followed her with his eyes. “Green is now….”

            “Possibly under the chip’s influence.” Echo stood and considered telling Sa Eno to keep her distance. But so far Green had shown no actual aggression. “Try to talk to him normally.”

            “Green… are you feeling ill?”

            “I’m fine, sir. Waiting for orders,” Green said gruffly. His eyes scanned the room.

            “This is strange,” Sa Eno muttered. “He never calls me _sir_.”

            “What’s more strange is that he is not completely unresponsive, as I was,” Echo thought aloud. “But he also isn’t acting like himself.”

            “I don’t like it,” Sa Eno hissed. “What sort of orders are you waiting for, Green?”

            Green looked at her but didn’t speak, barely blinking.

            “Green,” Echo said, in his own voice. “I order you to kill Unit Three.”

            Green took two steps toward Unit Three—7724 jumped forward to intercept—and stopped as if unbalanced. A muscle in his jaw twitched and he frowned, eyes defocusing for a moment. He unclenched his fists. 7724 came forward and took his arm; he didn’t resist.

            “Perhaps we _should_ start with a less extreme command,” Sa Eno suggested.

            “No,” Echo said. “It needs to be extreme if we want our evidence to be convincing without a doubt. I hope you are recording this.” He turned on the voice synthesizer and spoke into it. Palpatine’s voice came through loud and clear. “Green, I order you to kill Unit Three.”

            Immediately and without a word, Green twisted in 7724’s grip and kicked the back of his knee, running toward his target. 7723 threw himself down in a sweep, hooking the backs of Green’s knees with his heel in turn, while Echo passed the tech in his hands to 7721 and ran forward. He grabbed Green’s left arm and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to roll onto his knees and stay down.

            Green groaned through his teeth, struggling so hard that Echo felt a spike of alarm through the network—Green was going to hurt himself yanking against his hold like that.

            “Green, forget that order,” 7721 said through the synthesizer, all the network aware of the effort of holding Green down. Echo could see through four other pairs of eyes the chilling, desperate look on Green’s face.

            Green muttered something, still doubled over, now panting

            “What did he say?” Sa Eno asked.

            “I _said_ , I don’t forget traitors,” growled Green.

            “Traitors?” asked 7721, keeping the vocal synthesizer and transmitter on. “There are no traitors in this room.”

            “You, Unit Three,” Green panted. “I’ll execute you for betraying the Republic! And you too,” he tried to turn his head enough to look at Echo. “For protecting him.”

            “ _We never specified a reason!_ ” Sa Eno cried in Kaminoan. “ _What is he talking about?_ ”

            “ _It seems that not only is anyone targeted labeled a traitor, but anyone who tries to defend them becomes a target as well. Be careful, Doctor._ ” Echo wordlessly directed the rest of the Diodes to stand on the edges of the room.

            Green took a sharp breath and threw himself toward 7723, but Echo threw his weight down on Green to pin him headfirst into the ground. Green screamed.

            His breathing was ragged, interspersed with moans and inarticulate whispers as he continued to struggle weakly.

            Echo pinned him with a knee and had 7721 try the synthesizer again. “Green, I release you from the order to kill Unit Three,” said Palpatine’s voice.

            “Kill Unit Three,” Green repeated breathlessly, sweating and scrambling to get his knees and feet under himself.

            “Green, I order you to stop trying to kill Unit Three,” he tried again.

            “Kill Unit Three….”

            “ _He is not going to return to normal!_ ” Sa Eno’s voice was getting higher.

            “ _There must be some sort of other signal or key phrase I don’t know to shut it down,_ ” Echo said, mentally scanning the reg manual again, but finding no phrase that seemed useful. “ _We will have to shock him out of it._ ”

            “ _I do not have a droid assistant here to help with accuracy. I could damage his brain!_ ” But Sa Eno hurried to the crates and began rummaging for her tools.

            “ _Wait… I want to try one more thing,_ ” Echo said, thinking. “Green, I am giving you a new mission,” he said through the synthesizer. Green went still, listening. That was encouraging. “I order you to destroy a pack of rations.” It was the first thing he could think of that wouldn’t set back their research.

           Green didn’t move, and Echo had 7723 move away to the furthest corner of the room before he released him.

           For half a second Green stayed still. Then, as he turned toward the crates, and all of Echo and Diode relaxed, a burst of pain crossed the network as Green suddenly stepped backward and drove his elbow into Echo’s ribs.

            “ _Green!_ ” Sa Eno yelled. She sounded angry. 7724 and 7722 nearly left their positions on the perimeter of the room to tackle Green but Echo stopped them with a forceful override. Instead, Echo grabbed Green once more and was met with a wild kick and another jab to his chest, but still Echo managed to pin Green back down, mashing his face against the floor. It was lucky that Green wasn’t particularly fit.

            “ _Hold him still!_ ” Sa Eno commanded, approaching hesitantly with her morbid tools. “ _It is risky enough to do this without a droid’s steadiness. If I damage his brain this will all be for nothing!_ ”

            “ _Wait just one moment, Doctor,_ ” Echo said. 7723 stiffly walked over to them under Echo’s command, and only gave the smallest jerk away before Echo grabbed him by the throat, releasing Green in the same instant. Pain and, somehow, a spark of fear came through the network as Echo carefully choreographed their movements, 7723’s gasp and struggle to pull Echo’s hands away from his throat, even as Echo bore down, tripping and throwing the young commando flat onto his back. It took even more concentration to get 7723 to fight back, one punch connecting a little roughly with his jaw. Green made no effort to assist, and merely watched.

            “ _Echo?”_ Sa Eno’s voice shrieked in a tone he hadn’t heard in a long time. “ _Stop him! Stop him! Unit Two! Don’t just stand there!_ ”

            “What is—what is going _on?_ Eno, what—”

            “ _Shut the door! Shut the door! Echo, listen to me. I order you to let go of him NOW!_ ”

            7723 was struggling to breathe. It felt terrible, the crowding darkness, the pressure, but Echo held on, simultaneously forcing 7723’s implant to switch off. In the moment directly following 7723’s disappearance from the network, the clone beneath Echo’s hands gave one last struggle, tearing at his fingers, eyes and mouth flying wide in a panic Echo had never seen on his face before.

            Even as 7722 took a step forward without meaning to, Echo stared back at 7723 and the younger clone’s eyes closed, twitching. His body went limp and too still.

            “Echo….” The shaking voice could have been Sa Eno’s or Sa Dio’s.

            “Unit Three is dead.” Echo took his hands off 7723’s neck and looked at Green, who was watching, transfixed from where he had stumbled to his feet.

            7721 picked up the synthesizer and transmitter, and repeated in Palpatine’s voice: “Unit Three is dead. Unit Zero has demonstrated his loyalty. Your mission is complete.”

            “ARC Zero-Four-Zero-Eight,” Sa Eno said in an icy whisper. “ _What_ are you _doing?_ ”

            Green fell back to his knees and choked. For a moment Green just breathed raggedly, eyes screwed shut. Then he started shaking in silent sobs.

            “What happened?” His voice cracked. “What happened?”

            Echo checked 7723’s vitals and felt both pulse and shallow breath. The commando showed no signs of consciousness. Finally, Echo looked up, and saw with his own eyes the way everyone stared at him, Sa Dio with both hands over her face. He wasn’t sure exactly when she had walked in.

            “ _I don’t understand what just happened here_ ,” she said. “ _I don’t think I want to_.”

            “I order you to explain, Unit Zero!” Sa Eno’s voice was still shrill.

            “Green,” Echo said calmly. “How are you feeling?”

            Green took a moment to reply. “Wha—at i-in—what… w-what—was that,” he coughed out between heaving breaths. “I don—o—d—don’t—”

            “Do you feel any residual aggression or impulsive need to kill?”

            “No! You’re the one—why d—did you—?!” Green jerked and stared at 7723’s body in horror.

            “It was a necessary sacrifice.” Echo said. “If I did not kill him, you would not have rested until you killed both him and me. I believe we have enough information to reproduce these results when needed, and a more complete idea of what we’re dealing with.”

            Green gulped visibly, flushed. “This is… w—w-what the en—emy—?”

            “This is what the enemy is capable of forcing us to do. There are likely control chips inside every clone in the army… designed to engage when exposed to a specific trigger. In this case, a multi-pronged sensory code.”

            “He’s-s… dead...  you killed your own....” Green sucked in a lungful and let it out in choppy waves, seemingly unable to look at 7723 anymore.

            “Yes, a distraction, apparently. I will have him removed.” 7721 and 7724 stepped over to 7723’s body and hoisted it up between them. “ _Doctor, Sa Dio,_ ” he addressed them in Kaminoan, “ _please tend to 7723. He’s perfectly alive but he may need medical attention._ ”

            Wide-eyed and silent, Sa Dio directed them through the door that led to her sleeping quarters, leaving Echo, 7722, and Green alone.

…

            As soon as the door was closed behind them, Sa Dio directed the commandos to place 7723 down on a cushioned lounge, then perched on the edge and took 7723’s face in her hands.

            “ _That was so terrible. That was the worst thing I’ve ever seen,_ ” she murmured. “ _Eno, what is going on here? I can’t condone this sort of thing_.”

            “It... it was an act,” Sa Eno said, seeming shaken herself. “No one was harmed.”

            “Look at his neck!” Sa Dio jerked her head as she looked down at 7723, switching languages rapidly. “ _And what was that about Green?! What did you do to him?_ _Trying to anticipate enemy movements is one thing, but practicing those same attacks on younglings is beyond the ethics of scientific research!”_

            “ _Dio, I told you_ —”

            “ _At least part of it was not an act. Now Green believes this clone was killed because of him. He’s all but traumatized. And Unit Three—”_

            _“They are not younglings! They are_ cloned soldiers! _Genetically crafted weapons! I guarantee you their will had already been violated a hundred times over before they came to my laboratory. If you can even stomach the idea of them being true_ people _.”_

            _“This is why I didn’t want you to go to Tipoca!”_

            _“Why, because you are in denial about our species and our entire culture being built on_ this? _”_ Sa Eno gestured to take in the other clones in the room, shaking visibly. “ _This entire city is built on the prosperity we gained from creating and selling clones of other species! Are you going to say that that is beyond the ethics of science as well? Then you may as well forbid your own existence as a Telan because_ we _were originally_ created _to sell clones to the rest of the galaxy!_ ”

            _“Sister… calm down,”_ Sa Dio said faintly.

            “ _No one can live in two realities forever!”_ Sa Eno looked miserable, angry, hunched and gripping her own shoulders. “ _Either these clones are sentient people, or they are ours to do with as we wish.”_

            “ _They are somewhat complex, intelligent beings, I’m sure_ ,” Sa Dio said slowly, stroking 7723’s hair. “ _But we did create them. We have the right to decide things for them, as we made them exactly what they are from the beginning. You can have compassion for them without doubting your own right to exist, Eno. You always have such rigid thoughts_.”

            “ _One minute you are saying this test is unethical, the next you are defending the fact that the very ‘youngling’ you are holding has no right to protest his treatment! You haven’t seen the massive waste of life that Tipoca City facilitates every day. You have no idea how much worse it will be if I don’t find the proof I need before I go to the column_. _A bruised throat and a shaken spirit are nothing compared to what will come.”_

            Sa Dio frowned. _“You have your evidence now. This is too terrible for you to keep to yourself. You must take the evidence to the column immediately.”_

            _“Will they even care?”_ Sa Eno’s voice was a bitter laugh.

            _“If it is the threat to the Auco that you say it is.”_

            “The chip overrides the will and possibly increases aggression,” 7721 interrupted, unsure when a suitable opening would present itself. “Regardless of who is giving specific orders. But the chip seems to only be fully activated after receiving a transmission containing the attendant frequency and whatever code was embedded in the data Echo sent. After that, it seems likely that only one person’s voice can trigger involuntary violence against allies. And if the order has a clear outcome, that outcome must be achieved before the victim is released from the chip’s control. That is what we have extrapolated from this test. Sa Eno, do you think this is a reasonable conclusion?”

            “Considering what we just observed, yes.” Sa Eno took a deep breath.

            “Unit Three will not wake until you reinitialize his implant,” 7721 continued. “It’s too risky to assume Green’s chip won’t be triggered by the sight of Unit Three alive, so we must keep them separated. We recommend sending Unit Three back to Tipoca.”

            “Yes....” Sa Eno shook herself. “Yes. It would be a good idea to have a unit on-site in Tipoca when I speak to the column. Unit Three can keep us informed of any unusual changes that might indicate a response to the column having spoken to Lama Su.”

            Sa Eno took a small controller from her belt and plugged two tiny cords into 7723’s implant. The lights began blinking on, and a few moments later 7723’s consciousness reappeared in the network, and he was brought to wakefulness. His eyes opened slowly and he reached up to rub his neck. A flicker of fear and pain quickly diluted as it spread through the network like a brief electric shock. They all let out a small breath of relief, and Sa Eno disconnected.

            “ _What exactly happened to Green_ _?_ ” Sa Dio asked quietly.

            7721 looked at Sa Dio. “Before you entered, Green had been desperate to kill Unit Three based on an order given through a synthesizer replicating the voice of Chancellor Palpatine. His personality was altered to resemble an unfeeling and aggressive soldier for whom following kill orders against traitors appeared to be the singular concern. He was not unlike what civilians suppose clone troopers to be… those who have never met one. You would not have recognized him, Sa Dio. As you saw, once he believed Unit Three to be dead, he returned to the personality we are familiar with.”

            “I see... and... will all of this be reenacted in front of the column? Will Green be put through that again?”

            “He will,” Sa Eno said firmly. “We must be able to replicate the results of the test in front of them. We will repeat the test not only until we are certain our results are consistent, but also until we have found a way to turn off the chip once triggered.”

            “You mean besides strangling one of your younglings to death?” Sa Dio asked dryly.

            “Dio, stop it. The goal of further testing will be to find a more efficient way to free Green from the chip’s control.”

            “But you are working in such isolation. It could take a hundred trials before you find the answer. You don’t have a hundred soldiers, and the ones you do have… a plan that involves faking their deaths every time is simply not sustainable. _And_ it is cruel, for them and for Green!”

            “ _Stop_ ,” Sa Eno snapped. “ _Stop trying to defend them and defend yourself in the same breath! Are you for Kamino or against it? Do our products have independent rights or do they not? Because everywhere I turn I am both a traitor and a loyal Kaminoan scientist… for the same thought, the same action!”_

            “What are you talking about?” Sa Dio asked.

            “ _Are we owned by the people who oversaw our birth_? _Does it even matter if they are a different species?”_

            “ _When used to further our species, cloning is self-improvement,”_ Sa Dio recited stolidly. “ _We would not have survived as a species without also selling that skill. It is just the way of things… it is… necessary. But we do not have to be completely insensitive._ ” She switched to Basic. “Besides, the clones themselves feel a sense of fulfillment in their work, as long as they are given room to do it. Is that not true?”

            “She is right, Doctor,” said 7721. “The most important thing to us is saving the army from control by this chip. Saving the Republic we were made to serve. Beyond that we have no significant desires.”

           “I think you are tying yourself in knots because you do see these soldiers as younglings after all,” Sa Dio said. “Listen to me. If you go to the column now, they will help you. You won’t need to do any more tests.”

            “That is not how science works, Dio,” Sa Eno muttered uneasily. “Even if I go now, I must first organize my findings into something coherent.”

            “So get to work. But let the poor clones recover. The column is not composed of scientists.”

            “It is possible… it’s just possible that I could be working against something that is meant to be ignored,” Sa Eno said under her breath. “Or simply accepted. I do not know what I think.”

            “Go to the column,” Sa Dio urged softly. “Let them decide what to do. Then you can let the matter rest, and likely someone else with even more knowledge will be assigned to help.” She laid a hand on Sa Eno’s shoulder. “ _You don’t need to carry this yourself. It is neither your right nor your responsibility to decide the entire fate of Kamino._ ”

            “ _Isn’t it_?” Sa Eno murmured. “ _But I have an impact. This will have a huge impact_.”

            “ _Your duty in this situation is to seek help_.”

           For a moment the room fell completely silent apart from the ambient hum of water and air circulation systems. Sa Eno looked at them all one by one, and finally gestured agreement, a particular angle of her head and neck.

            “Maybe you are right.” Her voice was nervous. “I must carefully consider how we will proceed. Echo, please make sure Green and Unit Three are attended to.”

            “Yes, Doctor,” 7721 said.  “When you are ready, I would like to speak with you privately about some concerns I have.”

            “What?” Sa Eno looked at him as if he’d scolded her. But then her face relaxed into an almost dazed look as she angled her head in acknowledgment. “Yes. Alright. Of course.”

            “Thank you.”

            She looked at Dio, still bent in concern over 7723. “Just a moment.” She needed to gather herself.

…

            In the main room, Echo looked down at where Green was sitting, face blotchy, bottom lip bleeding a little under his teeth as he sat hunched with his arms crossed over his stomach.

            “You know what will happen if we fail,” Echo said.

            Green looking up at him slowly, terrified. After a moment, he nodded, visibly shivering. “Everyone… in the army… will end up like me. Because… everyone has this chip you keep talking about?” His breath caught and he swallowed, eyes falling. “I didn’t even know about it.”

            “We can try giving you less violent commands while we test for a way to shut it off.”

            “I don’t want to hurt anyone else,” Green said in a voice so tight it was barely audible. He screwed his eyes shut. He cleared his throat and wiped his face on his sleeve—a quick deep breath, and he fought to regain a soldierly composure. “Sorry, sir.” His voice was forceful even as it trembled. “I’m ready to do whatever it takes to make sure this doesn’t happen to anyone else. Just… I just don’t wanna see any more brothers kill—”

            “I cannot promise that. But we will take some time to try and think of alternative commands or ways of shutting down the chip’s influence.”

            “But I—” Green said loudly in a cracking voice, before quieting intently, still holding himself as he shook. “Before we do anything else, I want to know. Everything. Tell me what’s going on! How did you learn all this? Does anyone else know? D-did an enemy put the chip in us or was it the Kaminoans? What does any of that have to do with your implants?” Green stared up at Echo, determined, horrified.

            Echo hesitated, but his resistance to the idea gave way almost immediately. “Alright. I will explain everything.”

…

            Sa Eno sat in the large chair that took up an entire corner of Dio’s bedroom. Sitting in chairs like these had always made her feel slightly infantile, like the curving white wings of it that surrounded her were the remnants of an enormous eggshell she had just broken free of. Perhaps that is fitting, she thought bitterly to herself, as she carefully organized her files on the datapad she had brought. 7723 lay on the lounge, a conspicuous centerpiece to everything else in the room. While 7721 and 7724 sat by their fellow Diode and made calculations about how best to return him to Tipoca, Sa Dio paced, gathering scientific models off her many shelves and getting ready to leave.

            “I was just coming back to grab some visual aids when I walked in on _that_ ,” Dio sighed, glancing at 7723, whose eyes were closed again. “I must go back to my duties. Are you sure you’re alright?”

            “I am not sure of anything,” Sa Eno said.

            “Well… that is a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

            Embarrassment burned in her weakly. “Dio, please. I already know my outburst was shameful.”

            Sa Dio began to speak but stopped, and Sa Eno looked up to see her sister looking conflicted.

            “Apologies, sister,” Sa Dio finally murmured, her arms full of toy brains and organs, animals, plants. “I suppose I am a little shaken too. The truth is… I don’t like to think much about what happens in Tipoca City. I’m not certain there is any way to _change_ it, or even if you should try….”

            “I will go to the column,” Sa Eno said with deliberate calm, not looking up from the screen; a mixture of guilt and anger fogging her senses like steam in a bottle. “Just as soon as my results are comprehensible.”

            “I have to go,” Sa Dio said gently, and hurried out of the room.

            It was dim in Dio’s bedroom. The entire far wall was devoted to a narrow channel of water, lit from beneath and above, but there was no other source of light except the pad in Sa Eno’s hands. Shelves packed full of teaching materials covered the other walls from floor to ceiling.

            She sat immobilized in that chair, staring at the gel-cushioned bowl-shaped bed, listening to the hushed but haggard breathing of 7723 in the liquid quiet of the insulated space. Remembering how proud and how lonely she had been after graduating to adulthood and being granted individual sleeping quarters. She and Dio and her other batchmates had kept each other up whispering so many nights before then, it was strange at first to fall asleep in utter silence. Now in the nights since Sa Eno’s arrival, Dio pulled out the side extensions on her bed and they shared the curved, cozy space—talking, but not for long, both of them a little more used to solitary nights.

            Aware that she was stalling, unable to focus on the screen in front of her even after several minutes, Sa Eno sighed and set the datapad down. “Alright. Echo.” Every face turned toward her. “I will speak with you now.”

            7721 nodded and faced her fully. “Were you telling the truth to your sister? Do you plan to go to the column immediately?”

            “Yes,” Sa Eno said too quickly.

            “What about actually stopping the chips, Doctor?”

            “This is the most likely path to successfully stop them. If we tell the column and they take our side, they will know much better how to correct this.” The idea filled out in her head the more she said, and she realized it made sense. “They can order Lama Su to alter every clone in Tipoca City, and it would happen much faster than if we worked alone.”

            “I do not trust that course of action,” 7721 said in a soft monotone that somehow seemed more emphatic than if he’d raised his voice. “We should keep the information about the chips to ourselves until _we_ have the technology to counteract it. If the Chancellor gets word of what we are doing he will cut us off.”

            “I will not keep information from my people when that information is directly related to their safety,” said Sa Eno. “They know how to keep secrets. The Chancellor won’t hear of it.”

            “They know how, but Lama Su is a Kaminoan and yet he betrayed you.” 7721 stared at her insistently, and Sa Eno wondered how much of Echo’s attention was on this conversation—enough to manipulate even the Diodes’ facial expressions, it seemed. “I don’t like this. I don’t trust that any of the clones or the Jedi will be safe unless we are the ones in control.”

            “We?”

            “We cannot do it without you, Doctor, and you have been trustworthy.”

            “Only the column will know,” Sa Eno insisted, “and they are tasked with protecting all of Kamino. And they will certainly handle the information carefully. Their own safety is involved, after all. Why are you so paranoid?”

            “Considering that clones are merely property,” 7721 said bluntly. But he—Echo—said everything in that same matter of fact way. “They could recall us and want to scrap us for being tampered with.”

            “They would not do that,” Sa Eno said, and tried to believe it. “The Republic would never allow it.”

            “How else will your government correct the million and more clones already deployed? Once the Republic hears about a recall, the Chancellor will know. I guarantee that. And it will prompt his plan to be executed much sooner than it would otherwise. What is it to Kamino if the Republic falls, if the Republic was never their true customer in the first place? The only way Kamino has to protect itself is to immediately replace every deployed clone with fresh graduates whose chips have been removed. If that is not possible through some sort of kill switch or automatic recall—for instance, as when an outdated droid stops working—Kamino will be forced to negotiate with the Republic, and the Chancellor will have plenty of time to carry out his plans.”

            His voice never rose to anger. Calmly, he stood there in front of her and spoke of himself as a product, a droid who could automatically be deactivated if the company that built it saw fit.

            “You think so poorly of us,” Sa Eno said before she could help herself. “You know I won’t punish you for speaking the truth. If you resent me, just tell me plainly.”

            “I fail to see how my opinion of you is relevant beyond judging whether or not you are trustworthy, Doctor. I already stated that you have been.”

            She tried to focus back to the task at hand, burning with embarrassment that she had lost control again. But it was overwhelming just thinking of how to solve the problem of a million and more clones needing brain surgery.

            “The column will have anticipated a scenario where sold clones must be pulled back to Kamino en masse, at least to some extent,” she said, hoping that it was true. “The column will find a better solution than we possibly could. They know more about the technology it was based on. They have more power and access to everything than I do.”

            “That may be. But why should they help us instead of simply destroying the army to hide the technology?”

            “Because doing so….” Sa Eno trailed off, unsure, and forced herself to finish the sentence. “Because doing so would damage our species’ reputation with the rest of the galaxy. And it would be an enormous waste of resources.”

            “Helping _us_ would be an enormous waste of resources. Your species is under threat now as well. That will be where the column’s loyalty lies. It is only natural that they will focus their first efforts on investigating Lama Su and the technology he must have given to the Chancellor.”

            Sa Eno shook her head, thinking. “Yes. They will go to Lama Su first, to confirm his guilt and find out the extent of his betrayal. When they see what kind of technology he gave to the Chancellor, they will know that they must stop the Chancellor before he becomes aware of their investigation, or else he could turn the army and the technology Lama Su gave him against _Kamino_ to silence us before we have a chance to expose him. I… assume the column might want to take control of the army themselves in order to capture or kill him.”

            7721 was motionless for a moment, apart from his eyes, moving slightly in thought. At last he said quietly, “Has Kamino ever gone to war?”

            The word, when set into that sentence… although she had heard it so many times without feeling, it sent the fog in her body into her breath, as if she were trying to breathe in water even though grown Telan could not. War, on Kamino. She had seen enough of Echo’s recordings, enough of the wounds that came from warfare, and the psychology of young soldiers. She had felt the close shave with it when the separatist armies had invaded, violating the ocean with their ships and puncturing the city like viruses invading living cells before the clones drove them off. The secret of the aocolu’s existence would never survive war, and neither would the rest of Kamino. The only reason they had before was because the clones drove the enemy back.

            “No,” she said. “We have never gone to war. Not truly, even now. Our involvement with the Republic because of the Fett project is the only reason we have ever been invaded.”

            “If you are sure that the column’s first response would be to turn the army against the Chancellor, perhaps that _is_ the simplest solution,” 7721 said. “But Lama Su could alert the Chancellor that their deal has been compromised as soon as he is investigated. I hope the column has a way to ensure that the right side is using us.”

           “The column will have a way to counteract whatever technology Lama Su came up with,” Sa Eno said firmly, although she wasn’t certain of this at all. It felt like a lie. “I will advise them to take control of all the clones, at least here on Kamino, before they even speak to Lama Su, as a precaution.”

            “Is it even possible for a few Kaminoans to control an entire army?”

            “If it were not possible, you would have very little to fear from the Chancellor. We obviously have the technological means. It is simply a question of implementing it.”

            7721 waited silently, eyes defocused for a moment as Echo considered that. “I admit it is difficult to immediately think of an alternative plan to stop the chips. I would rather lose my will to allies than to a traitorous conspirator. If there’s a chance to save the Republic.”

           _Traitorous conspirator_ , Sa Eno thought to herself, about herself, before she could shake it off a moment later. There was no sure way to tell who she was conspiring against. Everyone, it seemed. She would lie to everyone.

            “I will advise the column,” she said. She could not tell them whether or not to go to war. No one, especially not clones, had any right to decide that fate for the planet, apart from Kamino’s leaders.

            “Thank you, Sa Eno. Please inform me when you intend to go present your findings.”

            “I will,” she said.

            7721 left without being dismissed, opening the door to the sounds of conversation, carrying on between Unit Zero and Green without him. Perhaps Echo hadn’t been giving his full attention after all. Or had 7721 really been speaking under his own direction the entire time?

            Sa Eno watched his back disappear beyond the door, gone to get a medical scanner for 7723 perhaps… or to join Echo in telling Green more about the crooked path that had led him here, perhaps even explaining how he was brought back from the edge of death. Like a prophet in some old religious epic, Sa Eno thought. A ghost, a warning dream made corporeal. _Look inside yourselves. All of us will be droids one day_. _We were never human to begin with._

            She sat back down in the eggshell chair and turned on her datapad, forcing herself to focus. This place did strange things to her imagination. As she began sifting through her notes, fragments of all she’d learned since Echo had returned from Anaxes, she wondered if beings which had never experienced anything but war found war any easier to begin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this far! If you enjoyed it, please leave us a comment telling us what you liked! Nothing inspires continued updates as well as that!


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